UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT   LOS  ANGELES 


"'IT   IS   LARGE   FOR    A   SKETCH/    SHE   SAID." 


Sutbor's  Definitive  BDition 


ROLAND  BLAKE 


S.  WEIR   MITCHELL,  M.D. 


LL.D.    HARVARD    AND    EDINBURGH 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1905 


Copyright,  1886, 
BY  S.  WEIR  MITCHELL. 

All  rights  reserved. 


THE  DE  VINNE  PRESS. 


vnnu 


?s 

2,-fH 


1305". 
ROLAND  BLAKE. 

CHAPTER  I. 

"  Let  that  bright  north  star  of  our  race 
Stern  Duty  guide  thy  certain  life, 
Through  clays  of  peace  ;  to-morrow's  need 
Shall  find  thee  ready  for  the  strife." 

AMIDST  the  great  host  which  crossed  the  Rap- 
idan  early  in  May,  1864,  with  the  sternly  resolute 
man  who  was  to  determine  the  fate  of  the  South, 

/  was  Roland  Blake.  An  orphan  from  his  early 
years,  he  had  been  brought  up  on  the  shores  of 
New  Hampshire,  near  to  the  old  town  of  Ports- 
mouth, by  an  uncle,  a  Congregational  minister, 
who  was  his  guardian,  and  who  had  skillfully 
cared  for  the  moderate  estate  left  by  the  boy's 
parents.  A  thoughtful,  quiet  young  fellow,  he 
lived  a  wholesome  out  -door  life,  with  sea  and 
winds  for  comrades,  while  his  uncle's  personal  at- 
tention to  his  education  amply  prepared  him  for 

V  his  life  at  Harvard. 

Nature  gives  to  one  man  curiosity  and  little 

means  to  gratify  it.     To  another  she  gives  desire 

to  know  and  the  organization  which  can  answer 

its   demands.     Then  she  has  made   an  observer 

1 


2  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

and  a  friend  to  whom,  with  discreet  reluctance,  she 
tells  her  secrets.  Directness  and  simplicity  attend 
the  practical  workings  of  such  persons'  minds. 
They  are  poet,  or  naturalist,  or  both,  as  the  rest  of 
their  mental  structure  determines,  and  are  fortu- 
nate if  fate  cast  their  lot  in  early  life  remote 
from  cities  and  put  them  in  natural  relation  with 
the  glorious  company  of  sea  and  sky  and  wood. 

Outside  circumstances  found  in  Roland  Blake 
the  qualities  which  make  a  man  observant.  The 
sea-side  life  gave  him  activity  and  physical  vigor. 
The  stern,  practical,  every-day  existence  of  a  home 
in  which  strong  sense  of  duty  ruled  modified  the 
natural  dreaminess  of  a  too  thoughtful  youth,  on 
whom,  also,  the  speculative  turn  of  the  ever- 
troubled  New  England  mind  was  not  without  its 
influence. 

Blake  hesitated  little  when  the  war  broke  out. 
His  own  beliefs,  his  family  traditions,  and  the 
decided  anti-slavery  opinions  in  which  he  had 
lived  brought  him  home  from  study  abroad  and 
carried  him  into  the  army  early  in  the  great  con- 
test. Thus  far  the  bullets  which  had  cleared  his 
way  from  the  ranks  to  a  captaincy  had  spared  him 
from  harm. 

A  dull  sun  rose  red  through  the  dust  which 
already  at  early  morn  filled  the  air  and  lay  thick 
on  the  unstirred  leaves  of  the  thin  woods  about 
Gerinanna  Ford.  It  was  May,  but  even  at  this 
hour  the  atmosphere  was  close  and  oppressive. 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  8 

The  sullen  flow  of  the  ruddy  Rapidan  was 
crossed  by  two  pontoon-bridges  of  wooden  boats, 
over  which  streamed  steadily  long  trains  of  artil- 
lery,—  dark-green  caissons  and  flashing,  brightly- 
polished  cannon.  The  crack  of  whips,  the  rum- 
ble of  wheels,  the  bray  of  mules,  loud-voiced 
orders,  oaths,  and  cries  filled  the  air.  Masses  of 
infantry  marched  rapidly  up  to  the  shores,  regi- 
ment after  regiment,  and  in  turn  tramped  in 
broken  order  across  the  swaying  bridges.  The 
bayonets  sparkled  over  them  in  the  yellow  light, 
and  the  blue  masses  climbed  the  farther  bank, 
disappearing  among  the  thin  woods  and  under- 
brush of  hazel,  scrub-oaks,  sassafras,  and  pine,  as 
the  brigades  of  the  Fifth  and  Sixth  Corps  marched 
into  the  sombre  depths  of  the  Wilderness. 

On  the  banks  were  scattered  groups  of  idle  con- 
trabands of  all  hues,  from  "  sad-colored  "  to  a  tint 
deep  as  that  of  their  own  tobacco,  liking  the  spec- 
tacle well,  but  apparently  mere  amused  and  not 
much  concerned  spectators.  Now  and  then  a 
chuckle  rose  as  a  man  lost  his  footing  on  the 
bridge  or  a  mule-team  regaled  them  with  brief  re- 
bellion ;  while  the  inventive  capacity  of  the  mule- 
driving  American,  much  stimulated  by  being 
pitted  against  the  noble  simplicity  of  the  mule 
mind,  filled  the  air  with  ingenious  blasphemy,  to 
which  the  swearing  of  all  other  lands  is  as  milk  to 
apple-whiskey. 

Then  some  headquarters  wagons  dashed  up, 
and  with  the  secure  authority  of  aristocrats 


4  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

scattered  the  motley  collection  of  negroes,  who 
moved  away  with  muttered  disgust,  like  people 
at  a  play  who  are  put  out  of  seats  they  consider 
their  own.  At  the  same  time  a  staff  orderly 
wearing  the  badge  of  the  Fifth  Corps  rode  up  to 
a  laughing  group  of  officers  lounging  on  foot,  or 
lying  down,  or  still  in  the  saddle,  in  all  sorts  of 
such  odd  postures  as  become  easy  and  restful  to 
the  man  who  has  lived  for  a  year  or  two  on  the 
back  of  a  horse. 

The  orderly  saluted,  and  said,  "  Headquarters 
wagons.  Please  make  room." 

"  Hang  these  staff  orderlies  !  They  're  worse 
than  old  regulars !  "  exclaimed  a  lightly  -  built 
/  young  lieutenant,  an  officer  of  the  provost-mar- 
shal's guard,  and  bearing  on  his  breast  the  badge 
of  the  Sixth  Corps.  He  was  watching  with  infi- 
nite amusement  the  humors  of  the  first  scene  of 
the  tragedy  about  to  be  acted  out  in  the  sombre 
woods  beyond  the  river. 

"  Give  me  an  old  regular-army  doctor  for  tip- 
top airiness,"  said  a  captain  of  volunteer  cavalry, 
as  he  swung  into  the  saddle  ;  "  but  the  staff  fel- 
lows are  bad  enough."  Everybody  growled  a  lit- 
tle as  they  got  out  of  their  lounging  attitudes  and 
moved  closer  to  the  ford. 

"By  George,"  said  the  first  speaker,  "those 
darkies  are  like  old  Romans  watching  us  poor 
J  barbarians  go  into  the  arena.  Halloa !  Give  me 
your  glass,  Lawrence,  —  I  thought  so  !  "  And  he 
rode  out  from  the  group.  "  Why,  there  's  Roland 
Blake. 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  5 

"  Blake  !     I  say,  Blake  !  "  he  called. 

An  officer  turned  from  the  masses  of  an  infan- 
try regiment  about  to  cross  the  muddy  stream. 
He  was  a  square-shouldered  man  of  over  middle 
height,  and  some  twenty-four  years  of  age.  His 
face  was  grave  and  resolute,  and  carried  a  certain 
serenity  of  expression  ;  the  eyes  were  attentive,  a 
good  blue-gray,  and  about  the  lines  of  the  lip 
there  was  a  pleasant  sweetness  which  the  faint 
brown  fringe  of  moustache  failed  to  hide. 

Several  men  rode  up  to  meet  him.  "  This  is 
good,"  he  said.  "  I  have  n't  seen  one  of  you  since 
that  last  scrimmage  at  Gettysburg.  How's  the 
arm,  Francis  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that 's  all  right,"  said  the  other ;  "  but  I 
have  been  hit  twice  since.  I  always  get  hit,"  he 
added,  gravely.  "  My  career  has  been  punctuated 
with  full  stops  from  rebel  balls." 

"  Seems  to  agree  with  you,"  said  a  man  at  his 
side. 

"  It 's  got  past  jesting."  And  then,  his  natural 
sense  of  fun  overcoming  him,  "  Whom  the  gods 
love  die  young ;  whom  the  gods  hate  get  hit  in 
every  skirmish." 

"  I  hope  the  gods  will  prove  indifferent  and  for- 
get me,"  said  Blake.  "  I  must  go.  Good  luck  to 
you  all !  Got  any  'baccy,  Phil  ?  I  'm  out." 

Two  or  three  men  offered  him  scant  contribu- 
tions, with  which  he  hastily  filled  his  pouch. 

"  Thanks :  that  will  do.  See  you  again,  Law- 
rence. Good-bye,  Joe.  I  see  you  're  in  the  P. 
M.'s  guard,  Phil." 


6  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"  Yes,  for  a  while ;  I  don't  fancy  it.  Look  us 
up  at  headquarters  if  you  chance  to  get  near  us." 

"  There  are  our  people,"  said  Lawrence ;  "  that 's 
the  Sixth,  I  think.  We  're  come  to  stay  this 
time,  Blake." 

"  God  grant  it ! "  said  the  latter,  as  he  made 
haste  to  regain  his  place. 

"  Same  old  boy,"  said  Lawrence,  as  the  group 
moved  on  towards  the  ford. 

"I  never  thought  he  would  have  taken  to  any- 
thing as  practical  as  war,"  returned  the  officer 
,  addressed  as  Joe.  "  There  was  always  a  queer 
mysticism  in  his  talk  when  we  were  at  Harvard." 

"  And  yet  if  you  want  a  thing  done  and  well 
done  no  man  is  more  practical  than  Blake,"  re- 
turned Francis. 

"  Well,  he  used  to  bewilder  me  at  Harvard," 
said  a  captain ;  "  it  was  wildly  confusing  at 
times." 

u  It  is  all  on  top,  —  outside  talk,"  said  Francis. 

"Perhaps  so.  But  certainly,  he  is  the  only 
person  who  is  never  bewildered  by  his  own  talk. 
The  fact  is,  a  fellow  always  knows  when  to  believe 
himself  and  he  don't  always  know  when  to  believe 
another  fellow." 

"That's  about  as  clear  as  Blake,"  laughed 
Lawrence. 

"  Well,  he 's  a  good  fellow,  at  any  rate,  and  the 
least  self-conscious  man  I  ever  saw." 

"  That 's  so,"  said  another.  "  Hark  !  was  that 
a  gun  at  the  front  ?  " 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  7 

"  Hardly  yet." 

"  Halloa !  there  's  the  colonel.  The  air  will  be 
curdled  with  cussing  when  he  hears  I  could  n't 
find  that  ordnance  wagon.  Here  goes  for  it !  I 
shall  cool  off  on  the  march."  And  he  rode  away. 

Blake  received  on  the  morning  of  the  5th  of 
May  an  order  to  report  at  general  headquarters 
to  the  officer  in  charge  of  the  bureau  of  informa- 
tion. Greatly  surprised,  he  went  through  the 
needed  formalities  with  his  colonel,  and  set  out  to 
find  the  staff. 

He  walked  rapidly  through  the  woods  and 
small  clearings,  asking  his  way  as  he  passed  the 
brigades  which  were  hurrying  by.  Far  overhead 
occasional  bullets  were  whizzing  through  the  air, 
and  here  and  there  young  leaves  and  twigs  were 
mysteriously  falling.  After  a  wearisome  search 
of  two  or  three  hours,  he  came  upon  a  small  log 
cabin,  in  a  little,  squalid  clearing,  and  knew  by 
the  headquarters  flag  that  he  had  found  what  he 
sought. 

As  he  approached  the  log  house  through  the 
confusion  of  wagons,  kicking  mules,  and  orderlies 
going  and  coming,  an  old  colonel  of  regulars  came 
hastily  out  of  the  door. 

Roland  asked  where  he  could  find  the  provost- 
marshal,  and  announced  his  errand. 

"  Oh,  you  're  Captain  Blake,"  said  the  colonel. 

"  That  is  my  name.     I  am  here  to  report." 

"  And  have  taken  your  time  about  it,  too." 

"  I  could  get  no  horse,  sir,  and  I  found  it  diffi- 
cult to  find  my  way." 


8  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"You  won't  be  the  only  one,"  said  the  grim 
old  regular.  "  Pretty  country  to  fight  in  !  Can't 
see  fifty  feet  ahead  !  " 

"  Bad  enough,"  said  Blake.  "  May  I  ask  why 
I  am  wanted  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Come  over  here ;  we  had  best  get  out 
of  earshot.  These  headquarters  orderlies  are  as 
\J  curious  as  garrison  girls,  and  the  aids  are  not 
much  better." 

So  saying,  he  walked  to  the  edge  of  the  clear- 
ing and  sat  down  on  a  stump.  "  Take  a  seat,"  he 
said.  "  You  can't  move  your  chair."  Then  he 
looked  about  him,  and  went  on:  — 

"I  am  in  charge  of  the  bureau  of  information." 

At  this  moment  an  eccentric  shell  turned  a 
somersault  about  twenty  feet  above  their  heads, 
and  gave  vent  to  the  strange  howl  which  this  per- 
formance always  produced.  The  colonel's  back 
being  towards  the  coming  projectile,  he  crouched 
ever  so  slightly,  and,  turning,  glanced  quickly  at 
Blake's  face :  it  showed  no  sign  of  amusement  or 
other  form  of  mental  comment.  The  colonel  went 
on:  — 

"  Lieutenant  Francis  mentioned  you  to  me  this 
morning  "  — 

"  Hang  Francis  !  "  muttered  Blake.  "  What 's 
up  now,  I  wonder?  " 

"  Confound  the  musketry !  Can  you  hear  me  ? 
It  must  be  getting  warm  in  front.  Ah  !  "  and  he 
lifted  one  foot  hastily  as  a  nearly  spent  bullet 
ricochetted  past  it.  "  As  I  said,  I  am  in  charge  of 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  9 

the  bureau.  My  chief  aid,  Captain  Western,  was 
drowned  at  Raccoon  Ford  yesterday.  I  want  an 
officer  in  his  place.  Your  colonel  is  an  old  friend 
y  of  mine.  He  says  you  will  do.  It  needs  a  cer- 
tain kind  of  man,  —  a  gentleman  above  all." 

Blake  bowed.     " Is  it  an  order,  sir?  " 

"  Yes ;  what  the  deuce  else  do  you  suppose 
it  is?" 

The  captain  did  not  like  it ;  but  he  had  re- 
solved when  he  entered  the  service  to  accept  liter- 
ally and  without  complaint  whatever  duty  came 
to  him. 

"What  are  my  orders?"  he  said,  rising.  "I 
am  ready." 

"  Good,  sir !  You  will  do.  And  now  to  busi- 
ness. It  was  a  part  of  Western's  work  to  see  and 
know  all  our  scouts.  They  go  out  of  our  lines, 
get  what  news  they  can,  and  return,  usually  allow- 
ing themselves  to  be  captured  on  the  picket-line. 
They  stay  a  day  or  so  among  the  prisoners,  and 
then  are  separated,  as  if  to  be  sent  North.  Let 
us  move  a  little ;  the  bullets  are  getting  rather  too 
plenty,  though  they  're  mostly  overhead.  There ; 
that  is  better,"  he  said,  as  he  got  his  back  to  a 
corn-crib.  "  Investigating  prisoners  is  another 
duty.  In  fact,  it  is  all  simple  enough." 

Blake  began  to  be  curious.  "Is  there  any 
immediate  matter  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that  is  just  what  there  is,  —  a  difficult 
one.  Oh,  confound  the  racket !  " 

As  he  spoke,  an  officer's  horse  tied  to  a  small 


10  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

tree  near  by  uttered  a  strange,  wild  cry,  tore 
loose  his  halter,  and  rolled  over,  convulsed  in 
death.  A  young  aid  ran  out  of  the  cabin  to  catch 
him.  He  stood  a  moment  quite  close  to  them, — 
a  mere  boy,  —  regarding  the  mournful  eyes  of  the 
horse  and  its  twitching  upper  lip.  "  I  had  as  lief 
been  hit  myself,"  he  said.  Then  he  turned  sharp- 
ly, clutching  at  his  own  left  arm.  "  Who  struck 
me?  "  he  said,  and,  tottering,  fell  on  his  face. 

Blake  ran  forward  and  turned  him  over.  The 
young  fellow's  eyes  opened. 

"Are  you  badly  hit?"  said  the  captain. 

"  Was  it  a  bullet,  sir  ?  Not  much  hurt,  I  guess. 
How  queer !  —  a  bullet !  " 

It  was  his  first  battle. 

Two  orderlies  carried  him  into  the  house,  and 
Blake  went  back  to  the  colonel. 

"  Bad  hit?  "  said  the  latter,  who  had  not  moved. 

"I  think  not." 

The  colonel  continued :  "  Captain  Weston  alone 
knew  the  names  of  the  one  or  two  persons  in  our 
pay  who  are  employed  in  the  departments  of  the 
Rebel  government.  These  names  are  kept  as  se- 
cret as  possible,  but  must  of  course  be  known  to 
some  one,  as  I  shall  explain  to  you.  I  myself 
have  never  heard  them.  You  will  find  them  in 
an  envelope :  here  it  is.  In  case  of  risk  of  cap- 
ture you  will  destroy  the  paper.  Usually  Weston 
did  not  commit  them  to  writing,  but  as  it  was 
meant  to  order  him  elsewhere,  he  left  them  with 
careful  memoranda  for  his  successor." 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  11 

"  I  see,  sir." 

"Western  has  twice  met  one  of  the  most  re- 
liable of  these  people,  —  a  man  really  very  valua- 
ble to  us.  He  was  to  have  seen  him  again  to-night 
at  eleven,  about  twelve  miles  from  here ;  one  of 
our  scouts  knows  the  place.  These  meetings  are 
usually  to  receive  important  information,  and  to 
pay  the  rascal." 

"  I  understand.  I  am  to  take  Captain  Wes- 
ton's  place  and  meet  and  pay  this  fellow.  It  is 
not  a  pleasant  duty,  colonel." 

"  No  ;  but  it  is  a  duty." 

"When  should  I  leave?" 

"  Very  soon.  I  will  give  you  the  needful  papers 
now,  and  let  you  talk  to  Weston's  orderly.  But 
remember,  carry  no  memoranda ;  run  no  foolish 
risks.  We  must  on  no  account  get  this  man  into 
trouble  at  home.  Scamp  or  not,  he  is  worth  to 
us  a  dozen  such  as  you  or  I." 

"  Very  good,  sir." 

"  You  will  take  five  men,  two  scouts,  and  a 
guide.  One  of  our  scouts  knows  the  country  per- 
fectly. You  can  trust  Pearson  to  guide  you.  Of 
course  you  ride  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  am  an  infantry  man  now,  but  I  am  an 
old  rider,  and  I  served  first  with  the  cavalry.  I 
shall  want  an  outfit." 

"  That  is  easily  arranged." 

"  My  old  regiment  is  part  of  your  command. 
It  is  under  the  hill,  sir,  on  the  left.  If  there  is 
no  objection  I  would  like  to  take  a  lieutenant." 


12  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"  Yes,  if  you  like ;  but  the  smaller  the  party 
the  better.  I  would  suggest  your  friend  Mr. 
Francis.  He  is  pretty  well  up  on  the  roads  about 
here,  such  as  they  are.  There  is  the  needed 
order.  The  men  are  attached  to  our  service; 
vour  scouts  know  them  well,  and  will  help  you  to 
choose." 

Blake  asked  a  few  questions,  and  then  followed 
him  to  a  tent  near  by  in  the  wood,  where  the 
colonel  gave  him  the  necessary  papers,  and  left 
him. 


CHAPTER  II. 

—  "  The  whole  world 

Hangs  full  of  morals  —as  eyery  twig  in  a  hedge 
Is  endowed  with  a  thorn." 

—  "  But  so  the  casual  drift  of  circumstance 
Catches  us  in  its  eddy." 

DESPITE  familiarity  with  death,  Blake  looked 
with  some  emotion  over  the  careful  directions  left 
by  his  predecessor.  It  was  easy  to  see  that  he 
had  kept  his  official  affairs  in  a  state  of  prepara- 
tion for  another's  eye.  It  gave  the  reader  a 
strong  impression  of  the  simple  soldierly  readi- 
ness of  the  dead  man,  and  with  a  feeling  of  being 
braced  up  anew  by  wholesome  example,  the  young 
man  went  on  to  his  task,  his  earnest  intelligent 
nature  intent  upon  carrying  with  a  clear  con- 
science the  load  the  writer  had  laid  down. 

He  soon  learned  that  by  the  aid  of  a  negro 
messenger  the  man  he  was  to  meet  had  commu- 
nicated to  Captain  Weston  the  time  and  place  of 
their  rendezvous,  and  had  drawn  on  a  card  a 
rough  map  of  the  roads,  and  such  directions  as 
were  needed.  All  of  these  were  given  in  capital 
letters,  —  evidently  to  avoid  display  of  handwrit- 
ing,—  and  the  last  line  was  underscored,  and- was 
to  the  effect  that  it  was  useless  for  any  one  to  meet 
him  except  Captain  Weston.  A  sealed  envelope 


14  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

marked  "Private,"  and  addressed  "to  my  suc- 
cessor," in  Weston's  writing,  explained  matters 
more  fully.  It  ran  thus:  "In  case  of  disaster  to 
me,  I  leave  to  any  one  who  may  be  called  on  to 
fulfill  my  duties  these  memoranda.  The  three 
persons  named  are  never  seen  except  by  me,  and 
to  me  only  are  their  true  names  known."  Then 
came  the  names  in  question,  with  a  few  lines  as 
to  the  need  to  make  sure  that  no  contingency  of 
war  should  be  allowed  to  throw  these  compromis- 
ing papers  into  the  hands  of  an  enemy. 

Blake's  first  care  was  to  make  two  or  three 
copies  of  the  little  map,  and  then  to  fix  on  his 
memory  the  three  names  given.  He  had  noticed 
that  they  were  numbered  55,  56,  57 ;  and  although 
Weston  had  neglected  to  state  this,  his  successor 
easily  concluded  that  these  numbers  were  meant 
to  be  used  in  some  way  to  identify  the  people 
with  whom  he  was  to  confer.  He  had  already 
made  himself  as  familiar  with  the  country  as  our 
very  poor  maps  allowed,  and  for  the  lesser  details 
felt  that  he  must  trust  to  his  scouts. 

He  spent  a  few  minutes  more  over  the  details 
of  daily  duty  set  out  in  a  little  blank-book,  and 
sat  awhile  longer  in  half-bewildered  consideration 
of  the  intricate  and  complicated  system  of  acquir- 
ing intelligence  of  which  he  was  to  be  a  part. 
For  a  time  he  was  to  live  among  the  baseness  and 
trickery  of  spies,  deserters,  and  prisoners,  who 
could  be  led  to  tell  what  they  knew.  He  did  not 
at  first  recognize  the  fact  that  some  of  the  scouts 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  15 

who  came  and  went  between  the  two  armies  were 
gallant  men,  honestly  believing  in  their  own  side 
of  the  great  quarrel,  and  was  for  a  time  simply 
overcome  by  a  horrible  perception  of  the  varied 
forms  of  villainy  which  have  to  be  cultivated  and 
rewarded  to  make  an  army  successful. 

War  had  indeed  always  seemed  to  him  bad 
enough,  but  deaths  of  men  were  to  his  fine  sense 
/  small  affairs  compared  to  this  novel  aspect  of  its 
evils. 

At  last  he  rose,  thinking,  "  As  well  I  as  another. 
Pray  God  it  last  not  long ! "  and  making  a  fresh 
resolution  to  keep  his  soul  as  clean  as  possible 
from  stain,  he  called  aloud  for  the  orderly. 

The  man  entered,  saluting. 

"  Is  there  a  horse  for  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  Captain  Weston  had  two  :  his  man 
is  close  by  with  them  in  the  wood.  The  colonel 
says  you  are  to  take  one  of  them.  I  would  take 
the  dark  bay ;  she  won't  be  seen  as  easily  as  the 
gray.  I  was  to  tell  you  the  detail  from  the  pro- 
vost-marshal's guard  would  be  ready  at  five,  and 
two  scouts,  sir." 

"  All  right.     And  you  go  with  me  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  sir." 

"  Bring  the  horse  at  once.  Is  n't  the  6th  New 
Hampshire  cavalry  back  here  a  bit  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  —  three  companies,  —  a  mile  or  so  it 
might  be." 

"  Then  take  a  horse,  find  Lieutenant  Francis, 
Company  B,  deliver  this  order,  and  return  at 


16  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"Yes,  sir." 

The  lesser  details  of  his  preparations  were  soon 
completed,  and  about  five  o'clock  Blake  found  his 
little  party  awaiting  him  well  back  in  the  woods, 
out  of  harm  from  the  stray  bullets,  which  by  this 
time  had  been  coming  thicker,  as  Warren's  corps 
was  slowly  pressed  by  E well's  forces.  Above  the 
musketry  he  could  hear  the  distant  sound  of  un- 
numbered axes,  where  away  on  the  battle-lines, 
not  two  hundred  yards  apart,  both  sides  were 
"falling"  trees  to  construct  breastworks,  abatis, 
and  slashes,  in  a  woodland  so  dense  with  under- 
brush that  at  this  distance  the  hostile  forces  worked 
on  unseen  of  one  another. 

Blake  found  his  friend  in  charge  of  the  little 
party,  and  every  precaution  for  a  noiseless  march 
made  with  the  deliberate  care  of  men  accustomed 
as  were  these  to  errands  in  which  the  clink  and 
rattle  of  cavalry  marching  might  have  serious  re* 
suits.  Sabres  were  caught  between  the  leg  and 
the  saddle-leather,  the  chains  tied  up  with  scraps 
of  blanket,  the  carbines  secured. 

After  a  careful  inspection,  Blake  mounted,  and 
the  little  troop  rode  away  to  the  northwest,  to 
avoid  the  left  flank  of  Lee's  army,  and  for  an  hour 
or  more  continued  to  meet  bodies  of  cavalry  and 
wagon-trams.  After  a  while  the  sound  of  mus- 
ketry was  heard  less  and  less  distinctly,  and  at  the 
fork  of  a  road  which  follows  the  line  of  the  Orange 
turnpike,  Blake  halted  his  party  and  drew  aside 
into  the  woods. 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  17 

"If  I  am  correct,"  he  said  to  his  chief  scout, 
"  we  go  about  four  miles  on  this  road  to  the  upper 
water  of  Mine  Run,  and  then  cross  the  pike  and 
the  plank-road  near  Verdiersville.  Do  you  know 
it  well?" 

"I  was  over  it,  at  Captain  Weston's  request, 
yesterday,  after  he  told  me  he  expected  to  meet 
56  to-night.  Shall  you  wait  for  night  to  go  on  ? 
It  will  be  best.  We  go  near  some  houses." 

"  You  seem  a  cool  hand,"  said  Blake. 

"  Yes ;  I  don't  het  up  easy." 

"  Where  are  you  from  ?  " 

"  Tennessee,  sir." 

"  And  how  came  you  to  choose  such  a  life  as 
yours  must  be  ?  " 

"  Well,  it 's  a  long  tale,  captain.  Mostly  I  hate 
'em  ;  had  reason,  I  think.  Then  I  like  it ;  it  ain't 
a  reg'lar  life,  —  a  thing  I  could  n't  abide  since  I 
was  a  boy.  Why,  I  used  to  plough  crooked-like, 
to  see  if  I  could  hit  a  stone  or  a  weed  with  my 
eyes  shut.  Now,  this  here  life  is  the  highest  kind 
of  zigzag ;  suits  me  down  to  the  ground." 

The  two  officers  laughed. 

"  Let  the  men  eat ;  but  no  fire,"  said  Blake, 
"  and,  above  all,  no  pipes :  tobacco  smoke  can  be 
smelt  a  long  way." 

While  they  were  in  motion,  Francis,  an  admira- 
ble officer,  had  been  at  one  moment  in  the  rear  or 
flank,  and  then  ahead  with  the  scouts.  Now  he 
asked  Blake  what  exactly  was  the  final  purpose  of 
their  march,  and  WHS  told  as  much  as  his  friend 
thought  fit  to  disclose. 


18  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

After  a  dismal  delay  in  the  rain-sodden  woods, 
they  started  anew,  with  still  greater  precaution. 

"You  might  'a'  bin  in  this  sort  of  thing  before," 
said  the  scout,  as  they  turned  into  the  mud  of  a 
cross-road.  "  You  don't  take  no  chances,  I  see." 

"  Never ;  but  I  am  very  anxious." 

"Well,  if  you  ain't  bin  in  it  the  Lord's  bin 
a-losin'  a  heap  of  your  time.  Might  I  ask  for  a 
bit  of  'baccy,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  don't  chew,"  said  Blake. 

"  Well,  it  beats  Job  for  comfort ;  I  'm  out  of 
it." 

It  was  dark  when  they  turned  southward,  but 
the  tall  scout  rode  quietly  on  with  the  certainty  of 
a  woodcraftsman.  Through  exhausted  tobacco- 
fields,  into  and  out  of  stump-dotted  clearings  and 
little  valleys  where  black-jacks,  sassafras,  and 
short  pines  made  the  night  yet  blacker,  they  passed 
on,  seeing  no  one,  and  hearing  rarely  some  good 
Confederate  watch-dog.  By  half-past  nine  their 
way  had  led  them  well  around  the  left  flank  of 
Lee's  army.  Here  they  passed  a  group  of  houses 
where  were  some  lights.  A  large  dog  came  out 
of  a  clearing  and  followed  them,  barking  furiously ; 
then  a  more  distant  friend  took  up  the  cry  and 
howled  a  response. 

"  Hang  that  brute ! "  said  the  scout,  and  they 
pushed  on  faster,  the  Confederate  canine  at  their 
heels. 

"Got  to  kill  him,"  exclaimed  Francis.  "A 
single  shot  is  of  no  moment,  and  he  will  rouse  the 
country." 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  19 

«  I  hate  it,"  said  Blake.  "  Better  to  push  on 
faster." 

"  He  's  got  to  go,  sir,  —  knows  his  duty,  that 
dog  does." 

"  Get  it  done,  then." 

"  A  shot  barks  worse  than  a  dog."  And  so  say- 
ing the  scout  dismounted,  gave  his  bridle  to  a 
comrade,  drew  his  sabre,  and  moving  quickly  away 
was  lost  to  view  in  the  sombre  shadows  of  the 
wood. 

Meanwhile  the  little  party  halted.  Suddenly 
there  was  a  howl  of  pain,  and  then  a  faint  yelp  — 
and  silence.  The  too  faithful  sentinel  was  dead. 
The  scout  reappeared,  and  as  he  settled  himself 
in  the  saddle,  said,  —  "  Darn  it !  I  always  did  like 
dogs.  The  brute !  he  just  come  to  me  like  he 
knowed  me.  I  'd  as  lief  it  had  been  his  master. 
Hang  the  dog !  What  business  had  he  got  to 
f oiler  us?" 


CHAPTER  HI. 

«  War  U  the  deyil'g  nursery." 

HALF  an  hour  later  they  came  upon  a  deserted 
ox-road  which  led  out  into  a  rather  more  open 
and  rolling  country,  and  could  see  in  the  far  dis- 
tance on  the  cloudy  sky  the  ruddy  upward  flare  of 
the  camp  fires  of  Longstreet's  and  Hill's  brigades. 

"  What 's  up  now  ?  "  said  Francis.  "  Confound 
the  rain  !  I  am  as  wet  as  a  fish.  Do  we  stop  here, 
Pearson  ?  It 's  dark  enough." 

"  Yes,"  said  Blake.  "  The  darker  the  better. 
Take  the  men  into  the  wood.  Remain  mounted 
and  ready.  If  I  do  not  come  back  in  one  hour, 
Phil,  return  and  report  me  missing.  My  traps 
are  with  the  regiment ;  if  anything  goes  wrong, 
take  possession." 

"  All  right,  Roland." 

"  Now  I  must  go.  Good-by,  old  man,  and  look 
sharp.  Pearson,"  he  said  to  the  scout,  "  come 
with  me  round  the  wood.  I  can't  see  the  cabin. 
How  it  pours  ! " 

"  Not  see  it !  That 's  queer.  Let  me  tell  you 
again.  Look  to  the  left,  —  a  break  in  the  wood- 
line.  Now  can  you  see  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  have  it.  I  follow  the  wood-shadows 
round  the  clearing  to  the  right,  then  I  rise  the 
slope.  No  fences  ?  " 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  21 

"  A  hell -fence,  sir,  half  way  up." 

"A  hell-fence?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  that 's  what  they  call  'em  here,  —  pig- 
tight,  ox- proof,  hoss  -  high,  stumps  upside  down. 
That  mare  '11  find  a  gap  if  you  give  her  her 
head." 

"  Very  good.  On  the  crest  is  a  deserted  cabin  ; 
that 's  all  right,  is  n't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir ;  and  one  thing :  hitch  your  horse 
near  the  top,  so  you  can  get  her  easy,  and  walk 
up.  The  rebs  are  picketed  clean  up  to  the  fourth 
field  back  of  the  house.  Fasten  your  sabre  under 
your  stirrup-leather  ;  if  you  have  to  run,  it 's  that 
darn  unhandy  "  — 

"  Thank  you.     And  now  good-by,  again,  Phil." 

They  shook  hands,  and  the  scout  went  ahead. 
Blake  walked  his  horse  slowly  along  the  edge  of 
the  wood.  Soon  they  halted.  "  I  shall  follow  you 
to  the  corner,"  said  Pearson  ;  "  you  won't  have  no 
trouble:  56  didn't  never  keep  him  long.  If 
there  's  a  row  I  shall  join  you ;  so  don't  shoot 
me." 

Blake  then  pushed  on  alone  through  the  thick 
blackness,  in  the  sullen  rain-pour,  and  with  some 
little  trouble  got  through  the  hell-fence.  The 
cabin-roof  was  clear  in  outlined  view  against  the 
fire-lit  sky.  Dismounting,  he  fastened  his  horse 
so  that  a  pull  at  the  halter-loop  would  release 
her,  took  a  roll  of  notes  from  his  saddle-bag,  and, 
making  sure  that  the  pistol  in  his  belt  could  be 
easily  drawn,  walked  up  the  slight  ascent.  Half- 


22  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

way  he  stopped,  a  sense  of  unusual  agitation  upon 
him. 

"  I  should  think  I  might  be  a  trifle  nervous  or 
scared,"  he  said  to  himself,  smiling;  "yet  the 
risk  is  nothing  to  that  of  a  skirmish-line."  He 
began  to  wonder  why  he  was  nervous,  and  con- 
cluded that  it  was  the  unusualness  of  the  affair 
that  disturbed  him. 

A  moment  later  he  stood  beside  the  cabin.  A 
dark  opening  marked  where  the  door  had  been. 

"  Is  there  any  one  here  ? "  he  said,  softly,  a 
hand  on  his  pistol.  As  he  spoke,  a  tall  man  in  a 
horseman's  cloak  came  around  the  corner  of  the 
house,  and  paused. 

"  Stand  1  "  said  a  voice  evidently  disguised  and 
anxious.  "  Are  you  Captain  Weston  ?  " 

"  I  am  not.  He  is  dead.  I  am  the  officer  sent 
in  his  place." 

"  Stop !  Don't  stir,  or  I  shall  shoot.  How  am 
I  to  know  you  ?  " 

"  You  are  56." 

"  What  then  ?     Can  you  name  me  ?  " 

"Yes;  you  are"  — 

"  Hold  ! "  broke  in  the  man.  "  Come  closer ; 
you  need  n't  be  afraid." 

"  That  I  am  not ;  "  and  as  he  approached,  the 
stranger  pulled  down  his  cap  and  drew  his  horse- 
man's cloak  up  so  as  partly  to  cover  a  face  which 
the  darkness  already  quite  concealed. 

"Now!  Speak  low.  Those  pickets  might 
chance  to  be  restless."  The  speaker  was  clearly 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  23 

uneasy  enough,  and  kept  glancing  about  him 
nervously.  "  And  now,"  he  said,  "  my  name  ?  " 

"  Richard  Darnell." 

"  Well,  that  will  do  as  well  as  another ; "  and 
he  laughed,  —  a  curious,  out  -  of  -  place,  untimely 
little  laugh.  "Let's  go  in,"  he  said,  "and  get 
through." 

The  Federal  officer  entered  coolly  in  front  of 
him,  now  having  himself  well  in  hand.  The  sin- 
gle room  was  almost  pitch-dark. 

"  I  am  to  receive  from  you  a  statement  of  the 
regiments  of  Longstreet's  and  Hill's  corps." 

"  It  is  here  in  cipher  ;  you  have  the  key." 

"  Let  me  light  a  match  and  look  over  it.  It 
may  need  explanation." 

"  Not  as  you  value  your  life  !  "  cried  the  other, 
fiercely.  "  I  do  not  choose  to  be  seen,  and  I  don't 
want  to  risk  attracting  some  straggler.  Take  it 
or  don't  take  it,  but  let 's  get  done." 

"  Very  good,"  said  Blake,  securing  the  little 
packet.  "  Here  is  your  money.  By  George  !  " 
he  thought  to  himself,  "  I  came  near  saying  Ju- 
das !  " 

"  How  much  is  it  ?  I  was  to  receive  a  couple 
of  thousand." 

"  Here  is  that  amount."  The  transfer  having 
been  made,  he  added,  "  I  believe  that  is  all." 

He  felt  unwilling  to  say  one  needless  word  to 
this  man.  Yet,  as  he  turned  to  go  out,  he  had 
an  eager  desire  to  return  and  ask,  "  How  can  you 
do  this  thing  ?  "  A  strange  pity  was  in  his  heart. 
The  crime  seemed  to  him  so  awful. 


24  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

As  they  came  forth  into  the  night,  a  few 
watching  stars  were  over  them,  and  the  darkness 
was  far  less  than  it  had  been.  The  stranger 
again  pulled  down  the  visor  of  his  cap  and  drew 
his  cloak  up  about  his  face. 

«  How  cool  it  gets  !  " 

Blake  made  no  reply. 

"  Where  is  your  escort  ?  I  will  see  you  down 
the  hill." 

"  That  is  needless,  my  men  are  close  at  hand. 
I  can  go  alone." 

"Well,  I  have  to  be  careful;  your  safety  is 
essential  to  mine.  You  will  pardon  me.  One 
word  more." 

Before  this  the  man  had  spoken  abruptly  and 
more  or  less  like  an  uneducated  person.  His  last 
phrases  betrayed  him  to  a  careful  observer  as  of  a 
higher  social  class.  Blake  paused,  with  a  sense 
of  sorrowful  responsibility  that  was  almost  a  pain. 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  You  pledge  me  your  word  of  honor  as  —  as 
an  officer  that  my  name  is  known  to  no  one  but 
you  ?  " 

"I  do." 

"  And  your  own  name  ?  you  did  not  give  it." 

"  No ;  I  mentioned  Weston,  that  was  enough." 

"  Well,  it  does  n't  matter.  How  did  you  learn 
my  name?  " 

"  I  found  it  on  a  sealed  envelope." 

"  And  do  you  keep  it,  sir,  for  your  successor  in 
like  fashion  ?  "  The  tone  was  imperative. 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  25 

"  I  do  not.  I  did  not  think  it  safe  to  leave  it 
behind  me  to  the  chances  of  war.  I  burned  it. 
Of  course  when  I  return  I  must  make  some  such 
provision  as  Captain  Weston  made." 

The  other  speaker  was  silent  for  a  brief  space. 
Then  he  said,  **  That  is  all.  You  will  hear  from 
me  in  the  usual  way  within  a  week  or  two. 
Good-night." 

"  Good-night."  And  Blake  moved  away  as  the 
other  turned  towards  the  cabin. 

The  Federal  officer  looked  back  once  or  twice 
at  the  retreating  figure  until  it  was  lost  to  view ; 
then  he  made  haste  to  find  his  horse.  He  untied 
the  halter-loop  and  stood  a  moment,  unable  to 
escape  from  the  unpleasant  impression  the  inter- 
view had  left  upon  his  mind.  Weird  fancies  went 
through  his  brain.  "I  should  like,"  he  thought, 
"  to  be  that  man  for  a  minute.  I  wonder  how 
/much  of  his  soul  I  have  bought  for  that  war- 
saint  the  devil.  Well "  — 

He  gathered  the  reins  and  set  a  foot  in  the 
stirrup.  A  slight  noise  in  the  wood  close  at  hand 
disturbed  the  animal,  which  was  never  easy  to 
mount.  As  Blake  lifted  himself  there  was  a  flash 
of  light,  a  pistol-shot,  a  sharp  pang  in  his  right 
shoulder.  The  horse,  touched  on  the  back  by  the 
same  shot,  rose  on  her  haunches,  and,  the  pull  on 
the  reins  sufficing  with  the  weight  on  the  stirrup 
to  throw  her,  she  fell  heavily  upon  her  master. 

For  a  moment  the  shock  confused  Blake.  When 
he  dropped,  a  man  ran  out  of  the  brush,  pistol  in 


26  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

hand.  As  he  did  so,  a  second  shot  rang  out  below 
them.  There  was  a  noise  of  men  in  the  distance, 
and  a  shot  from  the  rebel  pickets,  and  then  an- 
other. 

As  the  horse  struggled  to  rise,  Blake  heard  the 
man  exclaim,  with  an  oath,  "  I  can't  have  missed 
him ! "  and  then  the  next  instant  was  free  from 
the  mare  and  giddily  reeling,  but  on  his  feet,  the 
scout  beside  him. 

"  Are  you  hit  ?  Can  you  mount  ?  Be  quick : 
the  pickets  will  be  on  us." 

"Not  much  hurt,  I  think."  And,  aided  by 
Pearson,  he  tumbled  himself  into  the  saddle. 

The  scout  hastily  led  the  horse  down  the  slight 
incline.  "  Are  you  all  right,  captain  ?  My  horse 
is  here  in  the  wood." 

"  Yes  ;  I  am  better." 

"  Then  ride  on  as  quick  as  you  can  along  the 
wood." 

A  moment  after,  the  scout  was  beside  him. 
"  By  George,  they  're  about !  Darn  the  moon  !  " 

As  he  spoke,  a  dozen  shots  were  fired  from  the 
rising  ground  beyond  the  clearing.  The  bullets 
flew  harmlessly  by  them.  Their  horses,  scared 
by  the  noise,  broke  into  a  run,  and  a  few  seconds 
brought  them  to  the  party  in  the  ox-road. 

Francis  rode  up  to  meet  them,  "  What 's  wrong  ? 
Are  you  hit?"  he  said. 

"  Not  badly  ;  only  dizzy.  Take  command  and 
push  on.  We  shall  have  some  of  their  cavalry 
after  us." 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  27 

"  Get  ahead,  Pearson,  and  keep  a  sharp  look- 
out." 

As  the  trees  became  fewer,  there  being  no 
fences,  a  man  was  sent  out  on  each  flank,  and  one 
kept  well  in  the  rear.  Thus  guarded,  they  rode 
on,  the  noise  behind  them  growing  fainter. 

Francis  fell  back  alongside  of  his  friend.  "Was 
it  the  pickets  ?  "  he  said. 

"  No.  I  got  through  with  my  business,  and 
was  mounting  when  the  rascal  shot  me.  I  don't 
think  it  is  much,  as  I  can  move  my  arm,  but  it 
hurts  like  the  mischief.  Lucky  the  horse  plunged 
as  I  mounted :  nothing  else  saved  me.  The  fel- 
low was  n't  six  feet  off." 

"  Was  it  the  spy,  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure.  I  was  dazed  for  a  moment,  —  just 
a  moment.  The  ground  was  boggy,  or  I  should 
have  had  a  smash  somewhere  from  the  fall  of  the 
horse  on  me.  The  man  ran  up  when  I  fell,  and 
I  heard  him  speak.  Then  the  scout  fired." 

"Why,  what  at?  He  couldn't  have  seen 
enough  to  shoot.  He  might  have  hit  you,  or"  — 

"  Oh,  he  fired  over  us,  merely  as  a  warning." 

"  I  see.  Cool  hand  ;  saved  your  life,  probably. 
Have  you  any  idea  why  the  man  did  it?  Had 
you  quarreled  ?  " 

"  No.  We  simply  disposed  of  our  business  and 
parted." 

"  How  strange  !  " 

"  No.  I  understand  it  —  at  least  I  think  I 
do ;  but  to  explain  it  would  be  unfair  —  I  mean 


28  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

would  involve  the  breaking  of  a  pledge.  I  can't 
explain  it  even  to  a  friend  like  you." 

"All  right.  You  're  uncommonly  particular 
about  a  scamp  like  that." 

"  I  would  rather  keep  my  word  to  a  scamp  than 
to  an  honest  man.  It's  a  promise  after  all ;  and 
the  devil  has  good  splints  for  broken  promises." 

"  That  is  so  like  you,  Roland.  Halloa !  What 's 
that?  Halt!" 

The  scout  came  back  in  haste :  "  Those  pickets 
have  roused  the  bushwhackers.  There  's  a  fair  lot 
out  ahead  across  the  road.  This  way,  sir  ;  you 
can  see  them." 

Riding  on  a  few  paces,  Blake  could  see  with 
his  glass,  as  it  was  now  early  dawn,  a  small  body 
of  men  in  the  road  some  quarter  of  a  mile  away. 

"  They  are  not  regulars,"  he  said. 

"  No,  sir,  —  farmers,  bummers,  and  the  like. 
Shall  we  go  through,  or  take  to  the  woods  ?  " 

"  We  will  avoid  them  if  possible,  and  fight  if 
we  must." 

Upon  this  the  command  turned  into  the  brush, 
and  rode  due  westward  for  an  hour.  Then  they 
moved  on  again  to  the  north,  making  a  long  cir- 
cuit, and  without  further  annoyance  continued 
their  cautious  march. 

Early  in  the  morning  they  halted  in  a  wood  to 
breakfast,  and  then  Blake  found  that  his  hurt  was, 
as  he  had  supposed,  a  slight  flesh-wound  in  the 
shoulder.  The  horse  had  been  merely  touched  by 
the  ball. 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  29 

Their  long  ddtour  and  the  need  to  go  slowly 
through  a  rough  country  made  it  noon  before 
they  began  to  come  upon  moving  bodies  of 
cavalry  and  vast  wagon-trains,  white-covered  am- 
bulances, and  all  the  seeming  confusion  in  the 
rear  of  a  great  army.  Clouds  of  dust  hung  over 
the  melancholy  landscape.  The  rumble  and  rat- 
tle of  wheels  and  moving  horses,  the  curses  of 
mule-drivers,  the  jingle  and  clatter  of  cavalry 
escorts,  filled  the  air  with  a  strange  mass  of 
sound ;  while  above  all  rose  the  roar  of  distant 
cannon,  the  incessant  crash  of  musketry  adding 
to  the  volume  of  discords.  No  one  they  met 
seemed  to  know  anything,  except  that  Hancock 
had  beaten  Hill  badly.  Anxious  and  curious, 
they  pushed  on  with  such  directions  as  they  could 
get. 

By  and  by  they  came  on  wretched  straggling 
groups  of  wounded  men,  bloody,  begrimed,  and 
sullen,  and  here  and  there  an  ambulance,  a  mov- 
ing jolting  load  of  groans  and  execrations.  Over 
the  near  distance  a  gray  volume  of  smoke  rose 
high  in  air  or  blew  out  of  the  woods  in  dim  clouds, 
through  which  the  spent  balls  began  to  fall. 

After  a  long  search,  Blake  found  the  provost- 
marshal's  headquarters,  and,  making  his  report, 
nad  his  wound  dressed,  and  turned  in  to  get  a 
little  sleep  before  attacking  the  manifold  duties 
of  his  new  position. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  Thou  wert  but  a  maid, 

And  with  like  passions  stirred,  like  fears  afraid; 
With  ruddy  lips,  and  lovely  cheeks,  and  eyes 
That  did  not  guess  their  own  solemnities  ; 
With  every  unseen  maiden  loveliness 
That  innocence  doth  hide  and  lover's  fancy  guess." 

NORTH  and  South,  over  all  the  land,  a  new 
agony  of  expectation  was  in  millions  of  hearts  as 
the  shuddering  curtain  was  about  to  rise  on  the 
dark  drama  of  the  Wilderness  campaign.  Per- 
haps the  gladiators  in  the  arena  felt  its  horrors 
least.  Wife,  mother,  sister,  waited  with  sad  pa- 
tience for  news  of  the  never-ending  strife.  We 
who  lived  through  those  years  remember  them  as 
men  recall  the  quake  of  a  convulsed  earth,  and 
almost  are  vexed  that  our  children  can  smile,  and 
talk  so  lightly  of  what  to  us  was  living  tragedy 
and  to  them  is  mere  history,  —  an  added  task  for 
school-taxed  memory,  and  nothing  more. 

Yet  even  in  those  days  here  and  there  thron sh- 
out the  country  were  families  strangely  discon- 
nected from  active  interest  in  the  great  struggle, 
either  because  of  indifference  due  to  a  combina- 
tion of  easy  circumstances  with  selfishness  and 
the  fact  that  no  one  they  cared  for  was  in  peril, 
or  of  some  absorbing  matter  closer  at  hand  which 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  31 

made  the  war  seem  to  them  a  distant  and  trifling 
agency  in  their  daily  lives.  Single  individuals 
in  these  homes  often  suffered  the  more  acutely  for 
the  hostile  or  careless  atmosphere  in  which  they 
lived. 

The  time  was  early  in  April,  1864,  at  that  un- 
certain  after-breakfast  hour  which  exists  in  fami- 
lies where  there  is  no  steadying  machinery  of 
business  needs  to  enforce  punctuality,  and  where 
personal  caprice  is  the  rule  of  an  unmethodical 
group  of  people. 

The  day  was  chilly ;  a  small  wood  fire  blazed 
in  the  grate.  The  furniture  of  the  room  was 
modern  and  commonplace,  and  hinted  at  no  par- 
ticular taste  or  individuality.  Near  the  window, 
however,  stood  a  commodious  and  plain  table, 
out  of  keeping  with  the  slightly-worn  finery  of 
the  chintz-covered  chairs  and  lounges.  It  was 
piled  up  with  books  and  drawing-materials.  On 
the  floor  near  by  stood  an  open  work-basket,  with 
bright  floss-silk  skeins  hanging  about  it  in  dis- 
order. 

Presently  the  door  opened,  and  a  young  woman 
entered.  "  A  good  hour  to  myself,"  she  said, 
with  a  long-drawn  breath  of  relief.  A  golden 
hour,  she  thought,  —  and  how  should  she  spend 
it  ?  Then,  feeling  too  warm,  she  opened  wide 
both  windows,  and  stood  looking  out  for  a  few 
moments  on  Fifth  Avenue  and  the  rapid  tide  of 
men  walking  briskly  down  to  their  varied  occupa- 
tions in  the  busy  city. 


82  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"  Really,"  she  reflected,  with  a  sad  smile,  "  I 
am  like  the  Lady  of  Shalott."  One  or  two  of  the 
passing  men  looked  up  with  pleased  surprise  at 
the  nobly-modeled  head  and  the  interesting  face 
above  them.  Their  owner,  abruptly  conscious, 
shrunk  back  into  the  room. 

Next  the  endless  sing-song  of  the  newsboys 
struck  her  ear :  "  Grant  about  to  cross  the  Rapi- 
dan  !  Great  news  from  the  West !  Extra  « Her- 
ald'!" 

"It  is  strange,"  said  the  girl  aloud,  "I  am 
twenty  years  old,  and  of  all  the  million  of  men 
who  are  staking  health  and  life  I  do  not  know  one, 
and  there  is  not  one  whose  death  would  bring  me 
a  personal  pang.  Grandmamma  lives  in  the  past, 
and  Octopia  thinks  only  of  her  brother  and  her- 
self." 

Then  she  paused  and  again  spoke  aloud,  —  a 
habit  apt  to  grow  upon  those  who,  like  Robinson 
Crusoe,  dwell  alone,  or  who,  like  this  girl,  live 
relatively  lonely  lives  amidst  unsympathetic  peo- 
pie. 

"  I  cannot  do  it,"  she  cried,  —  the  mention  of 
her  cousin's  name  having  recalled  to  mind  a  little 
unpleasantness  with  which  she  felt  that  she  must 
deal  at  once.  Octopia  had  that  morning  asked 
her  for  a  photograph  of  herself  to  send  to  Richard 
Darnell.  This  only  brother  of  Octopia,  like  most 
of  her  Virginia  cousins,  Olive  had  never  seen,  and 
had  heard  of  almost  solely  through  his  sister.  It 
was  characteristic  of  Olive's  age  that  she  did  not 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  33 

formulate  distinctly  her  dislike  to  accede  to  what 
seemed  so  trifling  a  request.  But  the  defensive 
instincts  of  wholesome-minded  girls  are  strong 
and  in  effect  far-sighted.  She  had  said  that  she 
would  see  about  it,  and  had  observed  the  glance 
of  surprise  with  which  Octopia  noted  her  doubt. 

Her  cousin  had  said,  "  Well,  see  to  it  at  once, 
my  dear,  I  am  keeping  open  a  letter  to  Dick  and 
I  cannot  wait."  The  girl  was  well  enough  aware 
that  what  her  cousin  once  set  her  heart  upon  she 
was  apt  to  succeed  in  accomplishing. 

As  the  young  woman  stood  reflecting,  the  door 
opened  and  a  gentleman  entered  the  room. 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Pennell,"  said  Olivia,  her 
face  cheerily  brightening.  "  How  are  you  ?  How 
rarely  we  see  you  !  " 

"  I  am  very  busy,"  he  returned,  "  and  just  of 
late  unusually  so." 

The  new-comer  was  tall  and  paler  than  is  com- 
mon, slightly  bald  and  clean-shaven.  A  man  not 
over  forty-five,  he  yet  stooped  somewhat  and  moved 
with  conspicuous  awkwardness.  Uneasily  shy,  he 
absently  put  his  hat  on  the  open  piano,  removed 
it  promptly  and  set  it  on  the  mantel-piece,  from 
which  it  fell.  Before  he  could  recover  it  Olivia 
picked  up  the  hat  and  stood  holding  it,  a  look  of 
saucy  mirth  in  her  face. 

"  Please,  Miss  Olive,"  he  said,  seeking  the  resto- 
ration of  his  head-covering,  without  which  his 
hands  felt  to  him  uncomfortably  out  of  employ- 
ment, "  please,  Miss  Olive,  could  I  see  Mrs. 
Wynne?" 


84  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"  You  can  see  Mrs.  Wynne,  but  you  cannot  see 
her,  oh,  no !  and  you  can't  have  your  hat  either, 
until  you  have  paid  me  a  little  visit.  I  have  seen 
no  one  in  a  week." 

"  No  one  !  oh,  Miss  Olive,  no  one  !  There  is 
Miss  Darnell." 

"  Yes,  there  is  Miss  Darnell.  She  is  always 
there."  He  looked  at  the  girl  with  a  curious  sense 
of  the  fact  that  she  was  growing  older.  "  How 
are  the  clocks?  "  she  added.  "  Please  do  sit  down. 
How  are  the  clocks  ?  I  wonder  if  I  shall  ever  see 
them  —  or  anybody." 

"  But  when  will  you  come  ?  I  am  sure  I  must 
have  asked  you  twenty  times." 

"  And  I  have  asked  grandmamma  twenty-five 
times.  It  does  really  seem  as  if  I  never  have  a 
minute  to  myself.  I  suppose  other  girls  have. 
Three  times  last  month  I  was  to  have  gone  to 
your  house,  and  three  times  Octopia  had  some- 
thing which  must  be  done,  —  at  once,  Mr.  Pen- 
nell,  at  once.  I  really  begin  to  believe  Octopia 
must  be  jealous  of  me." 

Pennell  blushed.  "Oh,  Miss  Olive,"  he  ex- 
claimed, "  I  will  speak  to  Miss  Octopia  about  the 
clocks,  and  then  perhaps  "  — 

"  Please  not,"  said  Olive  hastily. 

"But  why  not?" 

"  Oh !  because  —  I  really  don't  know  why  ;  but 
I  would  rather  not." 

"  Then  I  will  not,"  he  said  quietly. 

At  this  moment  the  servant  returned,  and  said 
that  Mrs.  Wynne  would  see  him. 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  35 

"  But  do  ask  for  my  cousin,"  said  the  girl.  "  If 
she  sees  you  I  shall  have  another  quiet  half-hour. 
No,  you  can't  have  your  hat  till  you  come  for  it. 
And  please  don't  forget  to  stay  ever  so  long  with 
Octopia." 

"  Nothing  could  give  me  more  pleasure  than  to 
do  as  you  desire."  He  spoke,  as  he  usually  did,  with 
a  slight  hesitation,  which  only  left  him  when  ex- 
cited. His  manner  now  was  formal,  and  meant  to 
indicate  some  slight  disapprobation.  It  sat  awk- 
wardly on  a  person  unconventional  by  tempera- 
ment and  education. 

Miss  Wynne  looked  up  as  he  turned  to  leave 
the  room,  and  felt  rather  than  knew  in  some 
vague  way  that  Mr.  Pennell  was  annoyed.  As  he 
walked  slowly  up  the  stairs  to  visit  Mrs.  Wynne  he 
reflected  on  the  fact  that  this  rapidly  developing 
young  person  was  clearly  not  in  accord  with  at 
least  one  of  the  women  with  whom  she  lived ;  and 
from  Pennell's  point  of  view  this  seemed  a  simply 
curious  and  inexplicable  fact. 

Miss  Wynne  stood  still  a  moment  after  he  left 
her.  Then  she  set  the  cherished  hat  on  a  table. 
"  Really,"  she  exclaimed,  "  he  must  like  Octopia 
a  great  deal.  I  could  spare  him  a  large  share  of 
her  affection  and  not  miss  it  —  much."  Then  ab- 
ruptly, having  some  unused  capacities  for  girlish 
fun,  she  was  seized  with  a  desire  to  make  closer 
acquaintance  with  Pennell's  comforter,  his  hat. 
She  put  it  on,  giving  it  a  slight  tilt  backwards, 
stooped  a  little,  and  with  a  perfect  imitation  of  his 
nervous  speech  said  aloud :  — 


86  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"Miss  Octopia  —  I  adore  you,  but  that  young 
woman  does  not.  She  did  once,  but"  —  at  this 
moment  Pennell  reentered  the  room. 

He  paused,  bewildered. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Pennell,"  said  the  girl  flushing  till 
her  cheeks  tingled  —  "I  —  I  —  please  to  forgive 
me  —  I  am  —  such  a  fool  sometimes.  You  won't 
mind  what  I  said?" 

"I  —  did  not  hear  it,  Miss  Olive.  You  could 
not  give  me  pain  if  you  tried."  "Oh!  he  mnst 
have  heard,"  thought  she.  Then  he  smiled  gently 
as  he  took  his  hat.  "  It  is  highly  honored,"  and 
he  brushed  it  affectionately.  "  I  forgot  that  I  had 
left  my  papers  in  the  lining  —  and  —  I  came  back 
—  for  it.  Good-by,"  —  and  he  left  her. 

"  There  will  be  no  lecture  for  that,"  said  Miss 
Wynne.  "  He  won't  tell  Octopia,  I  think,"  and 
she  laughed  gayly. 

So  saying,  she  turned  to  the  table,  reminded  by 
the  thought  of  her  cousin  of  the  matter  which  had 
begun  to  engage  her  attention  before  Pennell 
called. 

Somewhat  listlessly,  she  picked  up  one  of  the 
photograph  albums  then  in  vogue,  and  slowly 
turned  the  pages.  At  last  her  dead  mother's  pic- 
ture caught  her  eye,  and  she  stood  a  moment 
with  filling  eyes,  and  a  sudden  sense  of  the  lonely 
abandonment  of  orphanhood.  A  bitter  feeling  of 
life's  emptiness,  of  some  unsatisfied,  un-analyzed 
craving  came  over  her.  She  was  nobly  gifted  with 
the  yearning  instincts  which  are  of  despotic  force 


ROLAND  BLAKE  37 

in  the  highest  womanhood.  It  was  love  m  its 
many  forms  which  her  life  lacked. 

It  was  surely  not  a  full  renewal  of  the  child's 
grief  which  now  stirred  her  being.  The  large 
charity  of  time  had  brought  to  her  the  human 
privilege  of  partial  forgetf  ulness.  If  memory  were 
perfect  life  would  be  unendurable.  Still  thought- 
ful, she  turned  the  pages  again. 

At  the  end  of  the  book  were  four  portraits  of 
herself.  One  picture  was  that  of  a  girl  of  sixteen, 
with  great  eyes  and  a  slight  frame,  the  head  too 
large  for  the  body  which  in  later  years  carried  it 
so  proudly.  Under  the  photograph  was  written, 
in  a  feminine  hand,  "  Olivia  Wynne,  Munich,  set. 
16."  "Ah,  mother,  I  can't  burn  that ! "  She  put 
it  aside  a  moment,  looked  about  her,  and  at  last, 
lifting  the  tray  of  paints  from  her  color-box,  placed 
it  beneath  them.  "  She  will  never  look  there." 

With  the  other  likenesses  in  her  hand,  she  turned 
to  the  window.  "  Why  should  I  have  this  silly 
reluctance  to  burn  them  ?  It  seems  to  me  actually 
like  an  auto-da-fe '.  I  must  have  been  looking  at 
Octopia  when  this  was  taken;  it  is  as  stiff  and 
stately  as  Queen  Bess  in  her  ruff.  Ah,  dear  old 
London !  this  is  all  I  have  left  of  you." 

The  next  picture  excited  her  intense  amuse- 
ment. "Did  I  ever  look  like  that?  I  think  it 
would  disenchant  Cousin  Richard,  if  he  needs 
disenchantment.  It  ought  to  be  labeled  Becky ! 
and  was  I  ever  —  ever  as  handsome  as  this  ?  — 
4 Paris,  I860.'  Ah!"  — and  she  turned  to  the 


38  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

mirror — "at  least  I  am  not  now.  They  might  be 
three  women,  Priscilla,  Becky,  Honora."  And 
laughing  at  her  fancy,  she  threw  them  on  the  fire, 
stirred  them  into  the  ashes,  and  gazed  with  clasped 
hands  as  they  crumpled,  changed,  and  smouldered 
away.  Then  she  stood  a  moment  moodily  tap- 
ping the  fender-bar  with  one  foot. 

"I  suppose,"  she  said,  "there  will  be  a  fine  fuss 
about  this,  but  I  will  not  sit  again.  If  I  have  to, 
T  will  make  faces."  And  a  look  of  childlike 
mutiny  came  out  upon  her  features.  "  I  won't  do 
it!" 

The  clock  struck  eleven.  "  Three  quarters  of 
an  hour !  I  thought  as  much." 

The  door  opened,  and  a  small,  aged  colored 
woman  entered. 

"  'Scuse  me,  Miss  :  Missus  Octopy  she  want 
you  right  off." 

"  Tell  her  I  am  busy." 

"  Dat  would  be  no  use,  Miss.  Jus'  bes'  come 
along." 

"  Oh,  very  well." 

"  Shall  I  say  you  's  a-comin  ?  " 

**  Yes,  —  anything  you  please." 

The  woman  lingered. 

"  Say  I  will  come  at  once,"  said  Miss  Wynne. 


CHAPTER  V. 

"  Our  sacred  selyes  !    Have  we 
No  charge  to  keep  o'er  this  dirinity 
That  lives  in  us  ?  " 

THE  house  to  which  I  have  carried  my  reader 
was  rented  in  flats.  The  first  and  second  stories, 
with  a  part  of  the  third,  were  entirely  taken  up 
by  the  family  group  to  which  Miss  Wynne  be- 
longed. A  drawing-room  on  the  first  floor  was 
used  chiefly  by  her,  save  on  the  rare  occasions, 
more  frequent  of  late,  when  Octopia  Darnell 
chose  to  share  it  with  her.  The  apartment  be- 
hind it  was  a  dining-room,  in  which  at  times  the 
whole  family  met  when  Madam  Wynne,  as  she 
had  been  called  in  other  days,  was  able  to  be  pres- 
ent at  meals.  The  second  story  was  reserved  for 
the  bedroom  and  parlor  of  Mrs.  Wynne,  whilst 
Miss  Darnell  had  for  her  own  use  a  like  space  on 
the  third  floor,  leaving  to  Miss  Wynne  a  bed- 
chamber, on  the  same  story,  known  as  a  hall-room, 
and  certainly  quite  insufficient  to  accommodate 
the  person  and  the  gowns  of  any  young  woman 
more  luxurious  than  Olivia  Wynne. 

Two  years  before  the  date  of  this  story,  Miss 
Wynne,  a  girl  of  eighteen,  was  traveling  in 
Europe  with  her  father.  Since  the  death  of  her 


40  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

mother  a  large  share  of  her  young  life  had  been 
thus  spent,  most  of  it  on  the  Continent,  and,  ex- 
cept through  rare  letters  from  her  grandmother, 
she  had  had  little  or  no  communication  with 
America,  where  in  fact  neither  of  her  parents  pos- 
sessed closer  relatives  than  a  few  distant  Virginia 
cousins,  whose  increasing  poverty  Arthur  Wynne 
had  from  time  to  time  relieved. 

Then,  as  she  remembered  but  too  well,  her 
father  was  summoned  home  by  his  affairs,  while 
she  was  left  at  school  near  Liverpool.  He  wrote 
frequently  as  to  the  condition  of  the  firm  of  iron- 
manufacturers  of  which  he  was  the  senior,  and 
his  letters  showed  a  constantly  increasing  anxiety. 
He  spoke  angrily  or  sadly  of  the  disgrace  which 
he  believed  his  partners  to  have  brought  upon  his 
good  name,  and  of  his  resolution  to  meet  the  crisis 
by  every  possible  sacrifice.  At  last  came  the 
news  of  his  sudden  illness  and  death. 

Of  the  sad  voyage  to  America,  and  of  the 
coolly  tranquil  welcome  from  a  woman  who  no 
longer  existed  in  the  present  or  its  emotions, 
Olivia  Wynne  had  but  too  vivid  a  remembrance  ; 
it  was,  as  it  were,  a  wall  of  darkened  days  be- 
tween a  life  of  gladness  and  sunshine  and  that 
other  period  of  bitterness  and  petty  social  oppres- 
sion in  which  she  still  existed.  When  she  met 
her  grandmother,  of  whom  as  a  young  girl  she 
had  seen  little,  she  found  with  surprise  that  her 
home  was  shared  by  a  remote  kinswoman  of  her 
father's.  That  this  settled  inmate  of  the  home 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  41 

now  to  be  hers  was  not  well  loved  by  the  older 
woman  was  soon  plain  even  to  so  young  a  person 
as  Olivia.  It  was  obvious  enough  that  Miss  Dar- 
nell was,  within  narrow  limits,  useful  to  Mrs. 
Wynne,  but  neither  time  nor  fuller  opportunity 
for  observation  enabled  Olivia  to  understand  any 
better  how  two  women  so  unlike  and  with  so  little 
that  was  mutually  pleasing  should  have  come  to  be 
voluntarily  members  of  one  family  circle.  That 
it  was  a  permanent  arrangement  was  made  clear 
enough  to  her  by  even  the  little  her  grandmother 
vouchsafed  to  say,  and  she  had,  of  course,  quietly 
accepted  her  sole  home  as  she  found  it,  with  the 
passive  obedience  of  one  accustomed  to  live  with 
older  people  and  to  receive  their  decrees  as  final. 
But  the  rapid  development  of  a  nature  of  unusual 
strength  had  of  late,  with  the  unfolding  of  events, 
made  her  both  anxious  and  curious. 

As  she  walked  slowly  up-stairs, —  and  staircases 
are  places  for  much  thinking,  —  she  said  to  her- 
self, "  My  life  is  too  unnatural ;  I  am  getting  irri- 
table ;  and  how  long  through  the  years  to  come 
shall  I  be  able  to  endure  it  ?  " 

Pausing  a  moment,  she  made  anew  the  resolu- 
tion she  had  so  often  made  before  to  be  watchful 
of  her  temper,  and  then,  with  the  caution  of  well- 
lessoned  habit,  knocked  lightly  at  the  door  of  Miss 
Octopia  Darnell's  sitting-room.  After  a  moment 
she  knocked  again.  Presently  she  heard,  from, 
within,  a  voice  clear,  distinct,  and  gentle :  — 

"  I  said  '  come  in,'  Olivia." 


42  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

The  girl  opened  the  door  quietly.  The  room 
was  darkened  by  partly-drawn  curtains,  and  was 
luxuriously  comfortable  with  a  heavy-piled  Turk- 
ish carpet  and  easy-chairs.  On  a  long  reclining 
chair,  and  covered  with  a  silken  down-lined  cover- 
let, lay  the  long  and  attenuated  figure  of  Octopia 
Darnell.  She  had  the  singular  pale-golden  com- 
plexion of  a  woman  originally  dark-skinned  and 
now  lacking  blood.  The  nose  was  aquiline,  and 
emphasized  by  the  thinness  of  her  cheeks.  Her 
lids,  large  and  full,  were  habitually  half  closed 
over  watchful  gray  eyes,  and  her  mouth,  which 
was  of  remarkable  beauty,  was  somewhat  marred 
by  the  slight  protrusion  of  the  lips,  as  in  the  fa- 
mous medals  of  the  Malatestas.  Her  arms,  ex- 
tended languidly  beside  her,  seemed  from  their 
delicacy  unnaturally  long,  the  hands  were  white 
and  thin,  and  the  fingers,  with  rather  pronounced 
joints  and  pointed  nails,  were  delicately  cared 
for. 

Without  turning  her  head,  she  said,  in  modu- 
lated tones,  — 

"  Why  do  you  make  so  much  noise,  dear  Olivia? 
And  please  not  to  keep  me  waiting,  I  am  so  weak 
to-day.  You  are  young,  dear,  and  death  does  not 
seem  as  near  to  you  as  it  does  to  me.  There! 
don't  make  so  much  noise.  How  your  shoes 
creak !  And  don't  stand  about ;  it  makes  me 
nervous." 

"  I  came  to  say  that  I  must  go  out,  Octopia  "  — » 

"  Cousin  Octopia,"  she  corrected  softly. 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  43 

"Cousin  Octopia,"  repeated  Olivia,  mechani- 
cally. "  I  have  not  been  out  for  three  days." 

"  Nor  I,  dear  child,  for,  alas,  how  many  !  Don't 
desert  me.  I  am  so  lonely,  and  the  days  are 
long,  —  very  long." 

"  But  it  is  unwholesome  to  be  so  shut  up.  I  — 
I"  — 

"  Read  to  me  a  little  while ;  I  want  to  hear  the 
wretched  war-news.  And  don't  read  the  com- 
ments. You  will  be  careful,  love,  won't  you  ?  I 
cannot  stand  what  they  say  about  the  South. 
Happy  you  who  have  no  stake  in  it  all !  And 
don't  move  about  so.  Why  will  you  wear  dresses 
that  rustle?" 

Olivia  sat  down,  vanquished  by  the  mixture  of 
yearning  claims  on  her  feelings,  distrust  it  as  she 
might,  and  of  more  or  less  positive  commands 
which  long-enduring  obedience  made  it  hard  to 
disobey. 

She  took  up  the  "  Herald,"  and  began  to  look 
for  the  war-columns. 

"  I  cannot  see,"  she  said.  "  My  eyes  pained 
me  yesterday." 

"  Well,"  said  Octopia,  in  a  resigned  and  injured 
tone,  "open  the  window  a  little;  but  put  the 
screen  behind  me  first,  —  first,"  she  added,  with 
impatience,  "  before  you  let  in  any  more  light." 
Then,  in  softer  tones,  "  Thank  you,  dear  child. 
How  good  you  are  !  " 

"No,  I  am  not,"  said  Olivin,  raging  inwardly. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  are ;  but  don't  speak  so  sharply. 
And  now  let  us  hear  about  General  Lee." 


44  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

For  an  hour  Olivia  read  aloud,  in  a  softened 
monotone,  omitting  with  singular  skill  all  edito- 
rial comments. 

At  last  Miss  Darnell  raised  her  thin  hand: 
"  That  will  answer.  You  are  a  sweet  child.  Kiss 
me,  dear;  kneel  down  and  kiss  me.  How  good 
you  are ! " 

This  was  a  daily  trial  to  Olivia.  The  close,  ill- 
ventilated  room,  the  obscurity,  the  sallow  woman 
with  a  constant  atmosphere  of  strong  scents  about 
her,  were  alike  harmful  to  the  very  organization 
of  the  honest,  wholesome  maiden,  and  this  final 
annoyance  —  the  kiss  and  the  little  physical  pet- 
tings  —  was  becoming  almost  impossible  to  be 
endured.  With  a  distinct  effort  to  control  the 
mutiny  in  her  heart,  she  knelt  hastily. 

In  a  moment  Octopia's  long  arms  were  about 
her.  "Oh,"  she  said,  as  she  kissed  the  girl,  "I 
have  none  but  you  near  me  to  love  me ;  you  do 
love  me,  dear,  don't  you?  You  must,  or  you 
would  not  be  so  tender." 

Olivia  hastily  released  herself. 

"  That  was  rough,  child.  You  forget  I  am  an 
invalid." 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  Olivia.  "I  —  I  —  my  head 
aches ;  it  is  close  here." 

"  I  hardly  see  the  logical  relation  of  these  mat- 
ters. Don't  go ;  I  have  something  to  say  to  you. 
You  have  been  here  such  a  little  while.  Open 
the  window,  if  you  must ;  I  can  stand  it." 

She  had  yielded  so  often  to  the  sick  woman's 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  45 

plea  of  weakness,  of  loneliness,  and  of  multiple 
disabilities,  that  the  claim  upon  her  sympathies 
had  in  time  developed  easily  in  one  at  the  plastic 
age  a  habit  of  docile  submission.  It  could  not  be 
said  that  she  was  ever  unwilling ;  her  momentary 
impatience  was  due  to  the  craving  of  her  phys- 
ical nature  for  air  and  movement.  All  that  was 
noblest  in  the  girl  made  her  incline  towards  ten- 
der helpfulness.  Each  revolt  caused  her  intense 
self-reproach  ;  for  the  soul  of  woman  listens  with 
impatience  to  the  claims  of  the  body,  and  Olivia 
was  too  young  and  unsuspicious  to  find  in  an 
analysis  of  the  case  before  her  reasons  for  doubt, 
disbelief,  or  refusals. 

She  sat  down,  showing  the  almost  abnormal 
self-control  observable  in  young  women  of  decided 
character  who  have  been  brought  up  too  largely 
among  adults.  Next,  like  a  good  honest  martyr, 
she  kindled  a  small  fire  of  self-reproach,  and  be- 
gan to  torment  herself  because  she  had  been  on 
the  verge  of  a  denial  of  the  god  of  self-sacrifice 
instinctively  adored  by  good  women. 

As  Olivia  seated  herself,  she  saw  her  cousin's 
long  hands  rising  and  falling  on  the  coverlet,  and 
said,  gently,  — 

"  You  are  suffering,  cousin  ;  can  I  help  you?  " 

To  an  experienced  eye  the  movements  would 
have  seemed  too  regular  to  be  the  expression  of 
pain. 

"  Yes,  I  suffer ;  I  cannot  bear  these  struggles 
with  you,  Olivia.  You  are  like  all  young  people  ; 


46  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

you  have  no  real  sympathy.  When  I  am  dead 
you  will  remember  me  and  wish  in  vain  you  had 
done  more  to  help  a  pain-broken  woman.  I  don't 
want  you  to  answer  me  ;  I  cannot  talk  long,  and 
I  have  something  to  say." 

Olivia  watched  the  sallow  face,  with  its  look  of 
languid  inaction,  noticing  for  the  first  time,  being 
a  clever  but  undeveloped  observer,  that  the  lips 
spoke  without  the  other  features  appearing  to 
take  any  expressive  interest  in  the  thoughts  thus 
uttered. 

"  Richard  may  be  here  any  day  this  week, 
Olivia,  or  it  may  be  that  he  will  not  come  for  a 
month  or  two.  Everything  is  so  uncertain  now-a- 
days.  I  want  you  to  be  very  nice  to  him  when 
he  does  come.  You  will,  love,  won't  you?"  and 
she  patted  the  girl  on  the  knee  caressingly. 

Some  faint  instinctive  warning  rose  in  Olivia's 
mind.  She  could  not  have  guessed  at  its  source, 
but  it  steadied  her  and  made  her  careful. 

"  How  should  I  be  anything  else  but  nice  to 
him  ?  It  will  be  a  relief  to  see  any  one,  —  any  one." 

"Ah,  but  he  is  n't  a  mere  'any  one,'  —  Richard 
Darnell ! " 

Olivia  was  a  little  puzzled  how  to  reply,  and  re- 
turned, somewhat  at  random  :  "Is  he  like  you, 
cousin  ?  " 

"  He  is  better  than  I  am,  my  dear  child,  a  bet- 
ter nature.  If  he  were  like  ine  I  could  not  love 
him  so  dearly." 

As  she  spoke,  Octopia  lay  upon  her  back,  and, 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  47 

as  was  her  habit,  either  looked  up  at  the  ceiling 
or  talked  with  low-drooped  lids  that  seemed  to 
close  the  eyes  but  did  not.  Now  she  turned  to- 
wards Olivia  and  took  her  hand. 

"I  want  you  to  know  him  well,  dear.  We 
women  understand  one  another,  and  can  bear  the 
weight  of  one  another's  aches  and  troubles ;  but 
men  are  more  selfish,  all  but  this  man.  I  don't 
think  Richard  is  selfish.  There  never  was  a  mo- 
ment when  he  did  not  want  to  be  good  to  me." 

With  a  sense  of  surprise  Olivia  recognized  the 
thought  which  rose  to  her  consciousness,  that  she 
\j  might  like  this  man  better  if  he  had  been  less 
good  to  Octopia. 

"When  will  he  be  here?  How  can  he  come? 
He  is  in  the  Southern  government  service." 

"  Yes,  dear.  That  brings  me  to  what  I  want 
to  say ;  and  you  must  listen,  because  my  brother's 
coming  to  the  North  is  an  errand  full  of  risk.  He 
comes  on  some  business  for  the  Confederate 
States,  and  of  course  he  must  do  it  under  an 
assumed  name.  I  have  had  a  letter  which  came 
to  me  from  the  West  Indies  ;  you  know  that  is 
the  only  way  I  can  hear.  In  it  he  says  that  some- 
where about  this  time  he  must  visit  the  North, 
and  that  he  will  telegraph  me  from  Philadelphia 
when  he  will  arrive,  and  will  sign  with  the  name 
by  which  we  are  to  know  him.  I  think  he  has 
asked  to  be  sent  on  this  mission  chiefly  because 
he  worries  himself  about  me.  Perhaps,  too,  he  is 
a  little  curious  as  to  his  cousin,  dear." 


48  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"  I  am  not  much  of  a  curiosity,"  said  Olivia, 
simply. 

"  What  a  quaint  -way  you  have  of  saying  things  ! 
Ah,  we  shall  see." 

The  tone  of  confidence  was  for  some  reason  un- 
pleasing  to  Olivia.  "  I  hope,"  she  said,  "  that  you 
will  be  well  enough  to  see  him  at  once  when  he 
comes.  If  you  have  one  of  your  bad  days  you 
will  not  be  well  enough  to  come  down,  and  then 
I  know  you  will  leave  him  to  me  and  to  grand- 
mamma. Half  the  time  she  is  ill,  and  I  may  be 
left  alone.  It  will  be  difficult  for  me;  I  shall 
make  some  mistake  ;  I  know  I  shall." 

Octopia  reflected  a  moment.  She  distinctly 
meant  to  throw  these  two  young  people  together 
and  to  leave  them  to  meet  alone,  feeling  assured 
that  the  romance  and  peril  of  the  situation  would 
admirably  aid  the  foolish  scheme  she  had  woven 
to  interest  Olivia  in  the  Confederate. 

"I  shall  be  sure  to  see  him,"  she  said;  "but 
everything  will  seem  easy  when  you  meet.  How- 
ever, we  will  talk  it  over  again.  I  had  to  speak 
of  it  at  once,  because  he  may  be  here  at  any  time. 
You  must  be  very  careful." 

"  Yes,"  said  Olivia,  thoughtfully. 

"  And  bring  me  up  those  photographs  of  your- 
self." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I  want  them,  love.  I  did  not  like 
the  one  I  sent  last  year." 

"Why  was  I  not  told  that  you  had  sent  him 
my  likeness  ?  " 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  49 

"  Oh,  I  forgot  it,  I  suppose.  It  is  quite  possible 
he  may  not  come  at  all,  everything  is  so  uncertain 
in  the  South  ;  but  I  thought  that  if  he  chanced  to 
come  suddenly  it  would  be  as  well  for  you  to  be 
prepared." 

"  And  does  grandmamma  know  it  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  love.  He  has  to  go  up  from  Rich- 
mond to  the  army  and  back  again  almost  every 
month ;  but  this  time  I  surely  think  he  will 
come." 

It  was  all  disagreeable  to  Olivia.  She  was 
strongly  Northern  in  her  feelings,  and  the  need 
to  repress  them  was  one  of  her  daily  annoyances. 
The  handsome  Confederate  official  of  whom  she 
heard  too  incessantly  did  not  much  disturb  her 
imagination. 

"  And  now,  like  a  good  girl,  run  at  once  and 
get  me  the  photographs.  There  were  several.  I 
want  to  choose." 

"  I  have  none  to  bring,"  returned  Olivia,  flush- 
ing. "  I  burned  them." 

"  And  pray  why,  dear,  did  you  burn  them  ?  You 
knew  I  wanted  them." 

"  I  did  not  —  no,  I  don't  mean  that.  I  burned 
them  because  I  chose  to." 

" '  Chose  to ! '  You  will  have  to  learn  that 
what  your  elders  require  should  be  law  to  a  girl. 
*  Chose  to,'  indeed !  I  shall  speak  to  your  grand- 
mother." 

"  As  you  please,"  said  Olivia,  rising. 

"  Yes,  as  I  please.  You  will  find  it  will  be  as  I 
please." 


50  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

Olivia  stood  still  a  moment,  hesitating,  an  angry 
reply  on  her  lips,  and  feeling  that  self-control  was 
fast  deserting  her,  left  the  room  without  a  word. 

Then  she  heard  a  wailing  cry  :  "  Olivia  !  dear 
Olivia !  "  The  girl  turned  back  reluctant,  and  re- 
opened the  door. 

"  Try  not  to  trouble  me  ;  I  am  sick  and  irrita- 
ble. And  you  will  be  kind  to  my  brother.  And 
shut  the  door  gently,  love.  I  can  bear  no  more." 

With  an  indistinct  sense  of  having  been  alto- 
gether wrong  and  of  having  been  also  insulted, 
the  girl  went  slowly  down  the  staircase.  Midway 
she  sat  down  on  a  stair,  and  with  her  head  in  her 
hands  began  to  sob.  She  well  knew  that  the  half- 
apology  and  tender  remonstrance  with  which  she 
had  just  been  dismissed  meant  nothing,  and  that 
another  stormy  and  to  her  inexplicable  quarrel 
with  her  grandmother  was  before  her. 

The  exactions  of  her  nervous,  sickly  cousin  were 
surely  sapping  the  wholesome  life  of  the  younger 
woman,  and  as  surely  lessening  her  power  of  self- 
restraint.  One  moment  her  sympathies  were 
called  upon,  the  next  her  temper  was  tried  by  re- 
proaches. 

Presently  she  got  up  wearily  and  went  to  Mrs. 
Wynne's  room.  There  she  was  told  that  the  old 
lady  was  asleep ;  and  glad  of  a  release  from  a 
second  task  of  reading  aloud,  Olivia  dressed  and 
hastened  away  to  get  the  exercise  which  she  found 
it  so  rarely  possible  to  obtain. 

Two  years  had  gone  by  in  the  routine  of  unend- 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  51 

ing  tasks  and  as  constant  annoyances  since  Olivia, 
in  deep  mourning  for  her  father,  had  found  a  home 
at  least  in  name  with  her  grandmother.  She  knew 
that  Octopia  had  been  sent  for  to  take  charge  of 
her  father's  house  during  her  own  absence,  and 
that  her  cousin  had  nursed  him  tenderly  in  his 
last  illness.  Gratitude  might  have  influenced  his 
mother,  but  as  to  this  Olivia  could  but  surmise, 
and  all  that  she  knew  surely  was  that  the  feeble 
woman  on  the  third  floor  contrived,  by  one  means 
or  another,  to  make  her  influence  decisively  felt 
by  every  one  in  their  little  household.  At  first 
her  extreme  softness  of  manner,  her  fondness  for 
physical  petting,  and  her  love  of  Olivia's  society 
were  helpful  to  the  orphan,  abruptly  brought  out 
of  a  life  of  happiness  into  this  mournful  house. 
But  soon  the  girl  began  to  feel,  though  indistinctly 
at  first,  that  she  was  expected  to  give  more  than 
she  got.  The  alms-bag  of  tenderly  importunate 
craving  for  expressions  of  love  and  pity  was  forever 
at  hand.  Her  life  was  absorbed  by  Octopia,  who 
directed  her  studies  after  a  fashion,  and  who  was 
supremely  affectionate  so  long  as  there  was  no  re- 
sistance ;  when  that  came,  Octopia  was  hurt  or 
nervous,  or  both,  or  else,  when  defeat  was  near, 
gave  way  to  such  distressing  symptoms  as  com- 
monly routed  Olivia  and  made  Mrs.  Wynne  too 
uncomfortable  for  continuous  opposition. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"One  day  the  lady  saw  her  youth 
Depart,  and  the  silver  thread  that  streaked 
Her  hair,  and  worn  by  the  serpent's  tooth 
The  brow  so  puckered,  the  chin  so  peaked,  — 
And  wondered  who  the  woman  was, 
Hollow  eyed,  and  haggard  cheeked  — 
Fronting  her  silent  in  the  glass." 

WHEN  Miss  Wynne  was  fairly  out  of  earshot, 
Octopia  Darnell  rose  suddenly  to  her  feet,  with 
/  an  easy  grace  not  to  have  been  suspected  in  the 
weak,  who  are  usually  ungraceful. 

"That  girl  really  exhausts  me,"  she  said,  in 
explanation  to  herself  of  the  energy  of  her  own 
present  action.  "  She  has  no  consideration  for  ill 
health  and  dependency  on  others.  But  I  am  not 
quite  dependent,"  she  exclaimed,  again  at  the  end- 
less task  of  explaining  herself  to  herself.  "  It  is 
she  —  it  is  they  who  are  dependent." 

The  pride  of  power  came  abruptly  into  her 
face.  She  drew  herself  up,  threw  back  her  head, 
and  stood  in  the  dim  light,  alert,  self-observant, 
before  the  long  dressing  -  mirror.  Charitable 
shadows  flattered  the  thin  and  sallow  face.  Dark 
crescents  beneath  the  broad  eye-sockets  served  to 
bring  sharply  out  the  great  extent  of  white  in 
which  the  large  dark-blue  iris  was  set.  Black 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  53 

curls  of  hair  cut  short  crowned  the  rather  small 
head  poised  on  a  long  neck  above  drooped  shoul- 
ders. She  was  quick,  in  her  excitement,  to  note 
the  mystery  of  grace  which  all  can  see  and  none 
fitly  describe.  A  fierce  hope  rose  anew  in  her 
mind. 

"  I  am  better  !  "  she  cried,  "  I  shall  be  well !  I 
shall  be  as  I  was  !  " 

She  was  the  puppet  of  her  moods,  which  obeyed 
like  an  automaton  the  wires  pulled  by  her  emo- 
tions. The  mood  of  triumph  was  upon  her,  and 
reason  was  in  abeyance. 

"  Judith  !  Judith  !  oh,  Judith  I  "  she  cried. 

At  her  call  the  gray-headed  black  servant  ap- 
peared from  the  next  room.  The  set,  patient 
look  of  the  wrinkled  old  face  gave  way  to  an  ex- 
pression of  wonder. 

"  Ain't  heard  ye  speak  dat  way  dis  year,  Miss 
Topy.  What 's  come  to  ye  ?  " 

"How  old  am  I,  Judith?" 

"  Reckon  ye  knows  pretty  well." 

"  Answer  me  !  "  cried  her  mistress,  turning  and 
speaking  more  imperatively. 

A  look  of  malice  flitted  over  the  servant's  face. 
l'Ye  might  be  about  thirty,  Missus." 

"  You  know  I  am  older ;  but  I  don't  look  it. 
I  am  stronger  ;  I  am  looking  better.  Don't  you 
think  Dick  will  see  that  I  am  going  to  be  well  ?  " 

Again  a  gleam  of  dull  malice  disturbed  the  set 
wrinkles  of  Judith's  face.  "De  light  ain't  jus  dat 
good  for  my  eyes;  dey 's  a-gettin'  old."  And, 


64  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

speaking  thus,  she  moved  to  the  window  and  drew 
aside  the  curtain  with  a  hasty  motion. 

The  grace  of  the  figure  at  the  glass  was  still 
there,  but  the  illusion  of  outlines  softened  by  the 
dimness  was  gone.  The  eyes  set  deep  in  their 
shrunken  sockets  stared,  with  sudden  pathos  of 
discovery,  at  the  high-boned,  sallow  cheek,  and 
the  cord-like  muscles  of  the  neck.  Octopia  fell 
back  from  the  mirror,  feeble  and  shaking. 

"  I  look  like  a  corpse  !  "  she  said ;  "  I  am  hid- 
eous as  a  ghost!  Why  did  you  do  it?  you  hate 
J  me  !  Sometimes  I  am  sure  you  hate  me !  "  She 
turned  on  the  impassive  form  of  Judith,  and  seiz- 
ing her  by  the  arm,  held  her  with  a  fierce  clutch. 
"  You  shall  be  punished  for  this.  You  shall  quit 
the  house.  I  will  make  you  a  field-hand." 

"Why,  Missus,  yo's  a-gettin'  off  yo'  head. 
I 's  a  free  woman.  Dar  can't  nobody  boss  me. 
You  jes'  lie  down  a  bit  and  git  it  out  of  yo' 
mind  dat  dis  is  de  old  home." 

Under  any  great  stress  of  passion  the  sick 
woman  was  subject  to  these  spells  of  unreason ; 
Judith  had  seen  them  before. 

Octopia  stared  about  her  a  moment,  and  hastily 
swept  a  hand  over  her  face,  as  if  to  brush  away 
the  cobweb  daze  of  emotional  confusion  which 
had  come  upon  her. 

"  I  am  very  weak,"  she  said.  "  Where  am  I?  " 
and  she  fell  on  the  lounge,  while  Judith  stood 
quietly  beside  her.  She  had  endured  half  a  life- 
time of  petty  torment,  and  some  graver  wrongs, 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  55 

from  the  woman  before  her,  bnt  an  inheritance  of 
serfdom  and  abject  years  of  habitual  submission 
were  too  much  even  for  the  slow  anger  which 
sometimes  rose  as  time  made  clearer  to  her  the 
changed  conditions  of  their  mutual  relation.  Be- 
neath it  all  there  was  still  the  dog-like  attachment 
-of  an  inferior  nature,  which  is  little  disturbed  by 
v  injury,  and  vaguely  connects  with  a  master  the 
idea  of  essential  material  helpfulness. 

"  Should  I  git  ye  anything,  honey  ? "  she  said. 
"  I  's  sorry  I  hurt  ye  ;  I  don't  go  to." 

Was  there  some  flavoring  remnant  of  old  affec- 
tion in  her  phrase?  Was  it  but  that  habitual 
flattery  which  the  nursing  strong  cast  to  the  sickly 
feeble?  Was  it  the  mere  tribute  of  a  life  of 
cringing  ?  Who  shall  say  ? 

"  It  does  n't  matter,"  said  Octopia,  languidly. 
"  Nothing  matters.  You  're  better  than  the  rest. 
Listen  to  me ;  Master  Richard  may  be  here  within 
a  few  days,  as  you  know.  He  will  have  a  false 
name  ;  he  will  not  be  Richard  Darnell  to  me,  or 
to  you,  or  to  any  one.  Keep  out  of  his  way,  or 
you  will  be  letting  it  out  somehow ;  and  if  you  do, 
—  ah,  if  you  do,  it  may  cost  him  dear.  Do  you 
understand,  Judith  ?  " 

"  Guess  I  see,  Missus,"  returned  the  black,  mys- 
teriously. "  Kind  of  spyin'  out  de  land." 

"  Nonsense !  While  he  is  here  he  is  not  Richard 
Darnell ;  I  have  told  you  that  over  and  over 
again.  Don't  forget  it.  Now,  fan  me." 

For  an  hour  the  older  woman  stood  by  her, 


56  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

steadily  obedient,  until  at  last,  seeing  that  Octopia 
was  asleep,  she  rose  quietly  and  stood  for  a  mo- 
ment regarding  the  long,  frail  figure  with  a  look 
which  would  have  added  little  to  Miss  Darnell's 
comfort  had  she  seen  it. 

"  'Pears  to  me,"  said  the  black  to  herself,  "  I 
can't  somehow  git  away  from  de  ole  feelin's.  De 
things  changes  and  de  folks  dey  does  n't." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"My  days  are  in  the  yellow  leaf; 
The  flower  and  fruit  of  love  are  gone; 
The  worm,  the  canker,  and  the  grief 
Are  mine  alone." 

FOE  several  days  after  the  events  described, 
things  went  on  as  usual  with  Olivia.  The  ex- 
pected guest  did  not  appear,  and  made  no  sign 
of  coming ;  so  that,  what  with  worry  —  which  in 
one's  moral  machinery  is  like  sand  in  more  mate- 
rial mechanism  —  and  the  struggle  to  get  calm 
enough  for  the  development  of  her  purposes, 
Cousin  Octopia  became  increasingly  difficult  to 
live  with. 

A  share  of  the  bothers  of  life,  of  its  little  trials 
and  its  wearying  cares,  may  be  good  for  mature 
women ;  but  no  one  can  tell  what  may  be,  even 
for  them,  an  unwholesome  overdose.  Olivia,  de- 
spite her  years,  lacked  the  robustness  of  developed 
character.  She  had  lived  almost  entirely  with 
her  own  sex ;  and  that  is  good  for  neither  man 
nor  woman.  Too  constant  demands  upon  the 
brain,  the  body  and  the  emotions  of  the  young 
soon  or  late  bring  about  gradual  but  certain  de- 
generative changes;  duty  gets  to  be  morbidly 
emotional,  or,  in  a  lower  nature,  sullenly  habitual, 
and  the  healthiest  become  irritable,  or  nervous, 


58  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

and  are  fortunate  if  circumstance  stirs  them  to 
open  revolt  or  removes  them  from  the  malaria  of 
\J  the  sick-bed. 

Another  week  had  thus  passed  by,  when  one 
morning  Olivia,  as  usual,  after  ceasing  her  task 
of  reading  to  her  cousin,  entered  her  grand- 
mother's room. 

To  a  stranger  it  would  have  presented,  with 
its  inmate,  a  sufficiently  interesting  picture.  The 
furniture  of  a  seaside  New  England  home  some 
generations  old  had  been  carefully  brought  with 
its  possessor  when  she  moved  to  New  York.  An- 
tique furniture  of  Chippendale  patterns  stood 
against  the  walls.  Claw-toed  chairs  with  carved 
scroll  and  shell-work  backs  and  dark-red  morocco 
seats,  polished  mahogany  tables,  and  a  thin-legged 
spinet,  —  all  seemed  to  belong  naturally  to  the 
slight  old  lady  who  sat  erect  in  an  arm-chair  near 
to  the  bright  brasses  which  sustained  and  guarded 
a  hickory  fire.  She  was  delicately  small,  and  clad 
in  a  soft  dressing- wrapper  of  snowy  whiteness. 
Her  features  were  thin,  white,  and  indeed  quite 
without  the  usual  old-ivory-like  aspect  of  age ; 
but,  although  her  eyes  were  clear,  the  many 
wrinkles,  and  especially  the  perpendicular  mark- 
ings of  the  upper  lip  and  its  slight  elongation, 
told  to  the  observant  eye  how  many  years  must 
have  left  upon  her  face  their  unerring  record.  A 
fall  of  soft  lace  partly  hid  the  forehead,  and  from 
under  it  fell  white  lines  of  hair.  Her  hands 
rested  on  her  knees,  and  were  gloved  with  the  long 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  59 

gauntlets  of  kid  now  again  in  fashion,  and  her 
arms  were  bare  above  them  to  the  elbows,  which 
emerged  from  the  lace  trimmings  of  her  gown. 

She  was  passively  regarding  a  portrait  by  Cop- 
ley on  the  further  wall  when  her  granddaughter 
entered.  Eighty-five  years  of  accumulated  mem- 
ories appeared  to  have  supplied  her  with  sufficient 
food  for  thought,  since,  except  for  the  daily  hour 
or  two  of  the  young  girl's  visits  and  reading,  Mrs. 
Wynne  seemed  to  prefer  to  be  alone  and  unoccu- 
pied, save  with  the  clock-like  click,  click  of  her 
knitting-needles. 

She  looked  up  as  Olivia  came  in;  a  phantom 
of  a  smile  crossed  her  face.  She  was  still  alive 
in  intellect  and  memory,  but,  except  for  brief 
periods  and  under  unusual  excitement,  she  was 
no  longer  capable  of  profound  emotional  disturb- 
ance. Yet  at  present  she  had  quite  enough  to 
trouble  a  person  able  to  bring  her  feelings  to  a 
focus  at  which  heat  is  possible. 

"  Come  and  sit  by  me,"  she  said,  in  a  clear, 
thin  voice.  "  You  need  not  read  to-day ;  I  have 
something  to  say  to  you." 

Olivia  sat  down  on  a  large  cushion  at  her  feet, 
and  looked  up  with  interest  at  the  face  which 
still  carried  in  its  refined  outlines  some  pleasant 
reminder  of  the  days  when  the  name  of  Ann 
Wynne  had  been  a  toast  at  suppers  and  men  had 
quarreled  for  her  smiles. 

The  girl  was  a  little  curious.  Her  days  went 
by  without  incident,  and  so  slight  a  thing  as  her 
relative's  words  awakened  her  attention. 


60  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"  What  is  it,  grandmamma?"  she  said.  "  I  am 
glad  not  to  read ;  my  eyes  ache  with  reading  to 
Octopia  in  the  dim  light,  and  I  am  tired,  too." 

The  elder  woman  looked  at  her  with  more 
than  usual  care.  "Where  are  my  glasses?"  she 
said,  and,  having  adjusted  them,  again  considered 
the  girl's  face. 

"  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  you  were  tired  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  of  no  use.  I  am  always  tired.  I 
should  not  mind  it  so  much  if  it  did  not  make  me 
cross." 

"  You  seem  to  be  as  sweet-tempered  a  woman 
as  need  be.  Do  not  think  I  do  not  see  and  know 
what  you  have  to  bear.  I  do  not  think  Octopia 
means  to  be  exacting,  but  she  lives  in  herself  and 
in  her  own  little  surroundings,  and  I  suppose  it  is 
y  hard  not  to  be  selfish  when  a  person  has  so  little 
left  in  life.  We  must  try  not  to  be  hard  upon 
her." 

"I  do  try,  grandmamma.     I  try  very  much." 

The  tender  tones  of  praise  and  recognition 
were  so  strangely  new  to  Olivia  that  she  suddenly 
broke  into  a  passion  of  tears,  and  buried  her  face 
in  her  grandmother's  lap. 

"  I  cannot  stand  it !  "  she  said.  "  I  try  to  be 
good,  and  I  get  worse  every  day.  I  —  I  —  some- 
times I  almost  hate  her ! "  she  cried,  looking  up. 
"  If  I  could  go  out  and  see  other  people,  and  be 
as  I  was  when  mamma  was  alive,  I  could  bear  it ; 
I  think  I  could  bear  it.  What  does  it  all  mean  ? 
Why  does  she  live  with  us?  " 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  61 

"  That  is  a  question  you  have  asked  me  before, 
Olive.  When  your  father  came  home  he  sent  for 
her,  and  after  he  fell  ill  she  nursed  him  most  de- 
v  votedly.  She  was  homeless  and  poor.  It  cannot 
seem  strange  to  you  that  she  made  herself  dear  to 
me,  and  that  I  wanted  to  help  her." 

"  No  ;  that  seems  to  me  right,  grandmamma. 
But"  — 

"But  what?" 

"  Why  does  she  say  so  much  about  our  debt  to 
her  ?  Why  does  she  always  have  her  own  way  ? 
When  I  know  I  am  right  about  something  and 
try  to  insist,  she  hints  at  what  we  owe  her.  I 
don't  think  it  is  at  all  nice." 

Mrs.  Wynne  was  silent. 

"  And  you  told  me  last  week  that  you  could  not 
help  it.  Why  cannot  you  help  it  ?  " 

"  There  are  certain  things,  my  child,  which  I 
am  not  able  to  explain  to  you.  When  you  are 
older  you  can  think  and  act  for  yourself ;  now  I 
must  think  for  you." 

"  But  it  does  n't  seem  quite  reasonable  that  she 
:  should  think  for  me  too.  Is  there  any  reason  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  one  which  seems  to  me  very  strong.  I 
cannot  tell  you  what  it  is." 

"  Why,  grandmamma,  it  seems  to  me  as  if  you 
were  afraid  of  Octopia  !  " 

The  old  lady  said  nothing  for  a  moment ;  then 
she  returned,  feebly,  — 

"  If  I  can  bear  it,  you  can.     Don't  you  think 


62  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

she  is  very  weak,  Olive  ?  "  and  she  looked  about 
her  as  if  fearing  to  be  overheard.  "  She  may  not 
live  long." 

It  was  strange  to  hear  the  thin,  fading  remnant 
of  a  woman  calculating  on  another's  death.  It 
shocked  the  girl. 

"  I  would  not  wish  her  to  die,"  she  said.  "  Oh, 
not  that !  It  bewilders  me,  grandmamma  ;  I  can't 
see  through  it.  If  I  only  could  know  what  it  all 
means,  I  might  try  to  bear  it.  Do  you  really  want 
me  to  understand  that  —  that  she  can  make  you 
do  what  she  wishes  ?  " 

"Oh,  she  does  not  threaten  me,  child.  How 
strangely  you  talk !  How  can  I  help  it  ?  It  is 
so  difficult  to  cross  people  who  are  nervous  and 
feeble." 

"  Feeble !  She  feeble  !  She  is  strong  enough. 
You  think  she  will  die  ;  I  do  not.  She  is  too 
wicked  to  die." 

"Olivia!" 

"  Yes,  I  mean  it.  She  is  killing  me  by  inches, 
and  I  can't  help  it.  She  is  really  ill,  and  she 
makes  me  feel  that  —  oh,  she  makes  me  feel  that 
I  do  not  sympathize  with  her,  and  I  do ;  but  I 
hate  her  too.  What  is  it  she  wants  now  ?  Is  it 
about  the  photographs  ?  I  burned  them,  because 
no  rebel  spy  shall  have  my  picture." 

"  You  burned  them  ?  " 

«Idid." 

"  I  am  sorry,  my  child.  Let  me  say  once  for 
all  what  is  clear  to  me  as  an  old  —  a  very  old  — 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  68 

woman.  There  are  reasons  why  you  and  I  should 
try  not  to  irritate  Octopia,  —  reasons  of  kindness, 
and  other  reasons.  If  you  cannot  get  on  with 
her  it  will  only  make  us  both  unhappy.  For  my 
sake  and  for  your  own,  we  must  simply  bide  the 
chances  of  time.  All  I  ask  of  you  now  is  not  to 
cross  her." 

"  It  seems  strange  to  me.  And  will  this  go  on 
and  on  ?  " 

My  dear,  I  have  lived  through  many  troubles, 
goes  on,  and  troubles  stand  still.  Let  us 
bear  with  patience  what  it  has  pleased  God  to  send 
upon  us."  Then  she  leaned  forward  and  caught 
the  girl's  face  in  her  two  thin,  gloved  hands. 
"  There  cannot  be  many  more  years  left  to  me. 
When  I  am  gone,  do  as  you  will ;  but  leave  me 
what  peace  is  possible.  I  have  seen  all  —  all  die, 
—  my  brothers,  my  children,  their  children,  —  all 
but  you  ;  and  I  have  lived  to  see  my  country  torn 
to  pieces.  Only  one  trouble  has  been  spared  me : 
that  I  have  not  yet  had  to  endure.  Wait ;  wait." 

Olivia  rose.  "  You  shall  not  feel  that  my  love 
has  been  wanting  in  this  or  in  anything  else.  I 
will  not  help  by  ill-humor  or  impatience  to  make 
your  life  harder.  I  will  never  speak  of  this  again. 
Shall  I  read  to  you  now  ?  " 

"  No  ;  I  am  tired  :  I  should  like  to  lie  down." 

To  say  that  the  girl's  mind  was  satisfied  would 
be  untrue.  Despite  her  lack  of  knowledge  of  the 
great  outside  world,  her  natural  intelligence  made 
it  plain  to  her  that  her  grandmother's  age  and 


64  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

growing  infirmities  of  mind  and  body,  and  her 
morbid  dread  of  all  added  discomfort,  might  un- 
fit her  to  deal  with  any  difficult  moral  problem. 
This  belief  robbed  Olivia  of  the  enterprise  and  de- 
cisiveness which  tempted  her  to  face  a  mysterious 
danger  rather  than  rest  in  the  uncomfortable 
ignorance  of  doubt.  But  attacks  on  the  girl's 
affections  too  readily  captured  her  heart,  and  any 
tender  appeal  to  her  sympathies  left  her,  as  in  the 
present  case,  passive,  if  unconvinced.  Now  she 
began  to  see  clearly  for  the  first  time,  what  she 
had  often  enough  suspected, —  that  in  some  strange 
way  Octopia  kept  her  grandmother  anxious. 
There  was  nothing  left  but  to  yield ;  and  yet  she 
felt  that  circumstances  might  occur  which  would 
make  prolonged  submission  ignoble. 

Octopia  said  no  more  of  the  photographs. 


CHAPTER  Vin. 

"  Ah !  not  for  idle  hatred,  not 
For  honor,  fame,  nor  self  applause, 
But  for  the  glory  of  the  cause, 
You  did  what  will  not  be  forgot." 

MEANWHILE,  the  weeks  went  by,  and  it  was 
now  a  day  in  early  May,  yet  there  was  no  news 
of  Darnell. 

Octopia  dined  down-stairs  with  the  old  lady  and 
Olivia.  On  such  unusual  occasions  as  this  Mrs. 
Wynne  said  but  little,  and  the  meal  was  only 
broken  by  ill-sustained  efforts  on  Olive's  part  to 
start  some  subject  of  common  interest.  As  soon 
as  it  was  over,  Mrs.  Wynne  went  silently  to  her 
bedroom,  and,  to  Olivia's  surprise,  her  cousin  be- 
gan to  describe  her  old  plantation  life  in  Virginia; 
its  gayety,  its  hospitality,  its  lavishness.  The 
girl  listened  with  a  certain  amount  of  attention. 

"  I  think  I  should  have  liked  it,"  she  said.  In 
fact,  it  seemed  a  pleasant  contrast  to  the  morbid 
existence  in  which  her  young  years  were  wearing 
away. 

/  "  It  will  all  come  back,  Olive,"  said  Octopia, 
triumphantly,  —  "  the  old  life,  —  and  you  shall  go 
South  with  us  and  see  it,  too.  Would  it  not  be 
pleasant  to  rebuild  the  homestead  and  buy  back 


66  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

the  lands  our  ancestors  lost?     You  would  be  a 
great  lady,  with  hundreds  of  slaves." 

"  Then  I  should  free  them,"  cried  Olivia,  with 


Nonsense !  you  would  only  ruin  them,"  re- 
turned Octopia,  who  was  in  a  mood  of  rare  good- 
humor.  "  You  don't  know  the  delight  of  having 
a  dozen  people  to  serve  you  at  a  word." 

For  a  moment  the  younger  woman  did  not  re- 
ply. She  had  pretty  clear  ideas  as  to  the  war, 
and  held  her  opinions  decidedly,  but  her  grand- 
mother's injunctions  were  still  in  her  mind,  and 
she  was  disinclined  to  anger  her  cousin. 

"  Yet  it  would  not  be  my  home,  after  all,"  she 
said. 

"  It  must  be.  We  shall  find  you  some  Southern 
gentleman.  Ah,  you  have  no  such  men  at  the 
North,  so  gentle,  so  tender  to  women,  so  brave." 

"And  is  Cousin  Richard  all  that?"  said  the 
girl,  smiling,  and  hardly  knowing  what  else  to 
say  or  how  to  keep  up  the  talk,  which  had  taken 
a  turn  she  had  known  her  cousin's  talk  to  take 
often  enough  before,  and  which,  for  some  reason, 
had  become  thoroughly  unpleasant  to  the  hearer. 

"  Dick  is  all,  dear,  that  a  Southern  gentleman 
ought  to  be,  and  the  best  of  brothers.  He  is  like 
me,  but  better  looking,  —  oh,  much  better  look- 
ing," she  cried,  laughing.  "  Only  wait  till  you 
see  him,  Olivia  ;  you  may  think  me  silly,  but  wait 
till  you  see  him." 

"  My  experience  of  men  is  rather  limited,"  said 
Olivia,  with  a  little  laugh  not  free  from  bitterness 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  67 

"Yes,  I  know  that  you  have  given  up  every- 
thing  to  your  grandmother,  and  to  me ;  but  there 
are  brighter  days  in  store  for  all  of  us,  when  Lee 
iX^  shall  have  done  with  this  new  man,  Grant.  They 
have  tried  a  good  many  on  Robert  Lee ;  the  end 
must  be  near." 

The  girl  thought  to  herself  that  the  service  she 
had  given  was  scarcely  as  free  from  hypocrisy  as 
it  might  have  been.  "  Hark  !  "  she  cried,  glad  of 
a  diversion.  ««  What  is  that  ?  " 

There  was  heard  the  noise  of  many  feet  in  the 
broad  avenue.  It  was  a  little  incident  —  anything 
was  an  incident  —  in  Olive's  dull  life. 

"  I  must  go  and  see,"  she  added.  "  I  must  go 
and  see ;  "  and  so  saying,  she  ran  to  the  window, 
threw  up  the  sash,  and  looked  out. 

Octopia  lazily  adjusted  her  shawl  about  her 
thin  shoulders,  and,  following  Olivia,  leaned  for- 
ward to  see  what  excited  her  cousin's  curiosity. 
"  More  mudsills,"  said  Octopia,  scornfully.  Olivia 
did  not  or  would  not  hear.  The  evening  air  was 
soft  as  if  it  were  June,  and  it  was  still  light  enough 
to  see  clearly. 

A  mass  of  men  moving  solidly  in  company  front 
filled  the  wide  avenue  from  curb  to  curb.  Before 
them  rode  their  colonel,  almost  a  boy  —  scarce  a 
sign  of  manhood  on  his  lip  —  his  left  arm  in  a 
scarf-sling.  Window  sashes  flew  up ;  men  and 
women  looked  out ;  crowds  gathered  on  the  door- 


Something  in  the  youth  and  bearing  of  the 


68  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

wounded  officer  on  his  way  back  to  the  front 
touched  the  crowd.  A  wild  cheer  broke  forth,  and 
from  all  over  the  house  fronts  white  kerchiefs  flut- 
tered. The  young  fellow  let  fall  his  reins  and 
raised  his  cap  —  smiling  as  he  bowed  right  and 
left.  Then  he  passed  slowly  out  of  Olive's  view, 
while  her  eyes  followed  him.  The  gleaming 
bayonets  flashed  in  the  lights,  file  on  file,  and,  as 
they  passed,  the  band  broke  out,  while  from  the 
head  of  the  column  rang  forth,  in  gathering  vol- 
ume, — 

"  John  Brown's  body  lies  a-monlderin'  in  de  ground, 
John  Brown's  body  lies  a-moulderin'  in  de  ground, 
John  Brown's  body  lies  a-moulderin'  in  de  ground, 
His  soul  goes  marchin'  on." 

The  vast  chorus  rose  solemnly  on  the  night  air 
between  the  high  houses.  Olivia  stood  clutching 
the  window-sill,  stirred  and  trembling  with  a  sense 
of  sympathy  and  awe,  as  the  steady  tramp  of  the 
regiment  died  away  and  the  thunder  of  its  grim 
war  song  faded  to  a  melody  which  rose  and  fell 
and  at  last  was  almost  lost  in  the  distance. 

The  girl  drew  a  long  breath,  and  stood  a  mo- 
ment thinking  of  the  death  and  pains,  the  agonies 
and  the  ruined  homes,  the  tears  and  the  sorrow 
yet  to  be,  before  that  war-spent  band  should  tread 
these  streets  again. 

"God  help  them!"  she  said,  still  hearing  at 
moments  the  more  and  more  distant  tread  and  the 
broken  song.  She  smiled ;  a  verse  of  the  psalter 
$he  had  said  on  the  last  Sunday  at  church  came 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  69 

into  her  mind,  and  she  murmured  it  half  aloud, 
with  fervent  application  of  its  words,  a  storm  of 
feeling  in  her  soul,  a  choking  in  her  throat :  — 

"  Good  luck  have  thou  with  thine  honor ;  ride 
on,  because  of  the  word  of  truth,  of  meekness,  and 
righteousness ;  and  thy  right  hand  shall  teach 
thee  terrible  things." 

Then  a  sense  of  her  own  helplessness  over- 
whelmed her,  —  the  woman's  lot  of  watching  and 
waiting  when  action  would  be  comfort.  All  her 
young  and  imaginative  nature  was  being  awak- 
ened by  the  slowly  moving  war  and  its  catastro- 
phes. To  her  cousin  she  dared  not  speak,  and 
her  grandmother  avoided  this  subject  as  she 
shrunk  from  all  others  which  were  painful  or  an- 
noying. 

At  last,  overcome  by  her  long-pent-up  emotions, 
Olivia  moved  hastily  away. 

"  Where  are  you  going?  "  said  Octopia.  "  Shut 
the  window." 

"  Oh,  the  pity  of  it !  the  pity  of  it !  "  cried  the 
girl.  "  When  will  it  be  over,  Octopia  ?  " 

"You  foolish  child!"  said  Octopia.  "They 
get  paid  for  it ;  they  are  not  like  our  poor  people. 
/  And  after  all  they  are  only  what  you  are  pleased 
to  call  blacks.  You  will  have  hysterics  next." 

Olivia  looked  at  her  steadily,  a  wild  light  in 
her  eyes,  her  self-control  quite  gone. 

"  How  can  you  talk  so  ?  "  she  cried.  "  They 
are  men  going  to  wounds  and  death.  Were  they 
South-born  or  North-born,  I  should  at  least  pity 


70  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

them.  You  have  no  heart  for  any  sufferings  but 
your  own  !  —  none  !  none  !  You  are  heartless  !  " 

"  I  ?  I  ?  "  said  Octopia,  "  I  ?  —  no  heart  ?  "  She 
was  honestly  amazed  at  the  charge.  Intensity  of 
attention  to  her  own  ailments  had  given  them  for 
her  a  dangerous  capacity,  and  she  was  simply 
shocked  that  any  one  should  fail  to  believe  with 
her  in  their  seriousness.  "  When,"  she  added, 
"  you  have  lived  through  such  years  of  pain  as 
mine,  you  will  learn  to  feel  for  another's  ills.  If 
—  if  you  knew  what  I  have  done  for  you,  what  I 
have  saved  you,  you  would  get  some  real  pity  for 
sufferings  which  grew  out  of  love  for  those  who 
should  seem  dearest  to  you,  and  you  would  not 
insult  me  with  this  hostility  to  my  brother's  cause 
;/  and  mine.  The  day  may  come  when  you  may 
bitterly  regret  it." 

There  was  a  singular  resemblance  to  Rachel 
in  the  long,  sallow,  graceful  figure  which  stood  in 
somewhat  theatrical  pose  facing  Olivia  ;  a  resem- 
blance with  an  unsaintly  halo  of  caricature  about 
it.  Olive  had  seen  a  portrait  of  the  great  actress, 
and  the  oddness  of  the  likeness  in  some  way  re- 
stored her  self-command.  Nervously  distraught 
sick  women  are,  in  fact,  apt  to  become  dramatic ; 
and  Olivia  had  assisted  at  many  such  scenes  ;  but 
this  time  the  girl  felt  that  there  was  somewhere 
in  the  play  a  deadly  reality. 

Once  having  crossed  swords  with  a  dreaded  an- 
tagonist, to  go  on  is  as  safe  as  to  retreat.  Olivia 
had  begun  to  learn  the  uses  of  time  in  the  matter 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  71 

of  emotional  disturbance,  and  stood  now  facing 
the  older  woman  without  a  word,  while  she  set 
herself  to  a  mood  of  calmness. 

Could  Octopia  have  realized  the  power  with 
which  the  younger  woman  put  the  brakes  on  and 
brought  her  rising  passion  to  a  stop,  she  would 
have  been  singularly  instructed  as  to  the  person 
she  was  educating  into  resistance.  The  girl's  out- 
ward tranquillity  amazed  and  irritated  her. 

"Why  don't  you  speak,  child?  Don't  you  hear 
what  I  say?  " 

"  Yes,  I  hear.  You  have  said  it  before,  —  not 
quite  as  clearly,  but  plainly  enough.  What  is  it 
you  have  done  for  us  ?  I  am  not  ungrateful ;  I 
know  I  am  not  ungrateful;  but  I  —  I  can't  be 
thankful  for  what  I  know  nothing  about.  You 
treat  me  as  if  I  were  a  child,  and  I  am  a  woman ; 
and  if  I  am  not  a  clever  woman  I  am  not  a  fool, 
and  I  am  sick  of  this  life  of  mock-mystery." 

"  Ask  your  grandmother,"  said  Octopia,  softly. 
"She  may  tell  you  if  she  will, — if  she  thinks 
best." 

"  I  have  asked." 

^  "And  she  will  not  tell  you?  Nor,  dear  child, 
!/  can  I ;  you  must  not  ask  me.  There  are  things 
which  it  is  best  for  us  not  to  know.  I  get  wor- 
ried and  say  things  I  don't  mean,  and  then  I  am 
sorry,  Olive,  because  I  love  you  always,  even 
when  I  am  cross.  Now  don't  let  us  talk  of  it 
any  more.  Kiss  me  good-night ;  I  must  go  up- 
stairs." 


T2  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"  I  can't  kiss  you  to-night,  Octopia." 

"  Why  not,  love  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  can't.     Don't  ask  me." 

"  How  can  you  hurt  me  so,  Olive  ?  There  !  I 
knew  you  would  upset  me,  soon  or  late."  Her 
pupils  dilated,  and  beginning  to  tremble,  she 
threw  herself  on  the  sofa,  with  her  hands  ex- 
tended in  rigid  spasm.  "  Send  Judith,  and  go  — 
go  away  ;  you  have  done  enough." 

Her  distress  and  terror  and  pain  were  evident, 
and  the  glance  of  reproach  she  cast  at  her  cousin 
was  pitiful. 

Olivia  was  disarmed,  knowing  well  that  these 
symptoms  usually  meant  days  of  suffering  for  her 
cousin.  She  promptly  called  the  old  black  woman, 
and,  with  wrath  and  pity  and  a  hideous  sense  of 
puzzle  in  her  mind,  left  the  room  and  descended 
the  stairs. 

Suddenly  her  keen  sense  of  humor,  so  much 
kept  down  by  her  surroundings,  came  to  her  aid. 
She  remembered  how  her  nurse  used  to  play  cat's- 
cradle  with  her  until  the  child  found  her  baby 
fingers  tangled  in  a  maze  of  thread  which  would 
not  go  off  in  orderly  fashion  on  to  the  woman's 
fingers.  She  looked  down  now  at  her  shapely 
hands  and  laughed. 

"  I  've  got  it  on,"  she  said  ;  "how  shall  I  get  it 
off?  Ah,  if  I  only  knew  the  truth  !  " 

But  the  angel  of  mirth  had  somehow  brought 
her  mysterious  comfort,  —  the  angel  of  mirth, 
twin-sister  of  contentment. 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  73 

itly  she  was  at  rest  in  her  sitting-room. 
With  a  resolute  effort  she  put  aside  her  discom- 
forts of  mind  and  turned  to  her  sketching-table. 
Then  she  took  up  the  evening  paper,  and  was  soon 
profoundly  interested  in  the  accounts  of  Grant's 
first  movement  across  the  Rapidan  and  his  ad- 
vance into  the  mazes  of  the  Wilderness.  At  times, 
as  she  read  the  description  of  the  war-correspond- 
ent at  the  front,  she  put  down  the  paper  and  sat 
still,  using  her  imagination  to  help  her  to  realize 
the  scenes  portrayed. 

At  last  her  reverie  was  broken  by  the  cries  of 
the  newsboys  :  "  Great  battle  in  the  Wilderness  ! 
Hancock  driven  back !  Grant  about  to  recross 
the  Rapidan  I " 

"Those  horrible  papers,"  she  said:  "they  are 
never  true.  I  shall  wait  till  to-morrow." 

She  sat  still,  reflecting  on  what  this  grim  chorus 
of  the  streets  must  mean  to  wife,  mother,  or  child. 
It  kept  the  war  forever  in  one's  memory,  —  at 
meals,  in  mid-morning,  in  the  silence  of  midnight, 
at  church.  There  was  no  escaping  these  persist- 
ent echoes  from  distant  battle-fields. 

At  length  she  rose,  and  went  up-stairs  to  bed. 
As  she  passed  her  grandmother's  door  she  paused 
and  knocked  lightly. 

The  old  lady  was  still  awake,  but  was  lying  on 
a  lounge,  ready  for  bed. 

"  What  is  it,  my  dear?  "  she  said,  in  her  small 
voice. 

"  I  have  done  wrong.     I  came  to  tell  you  that 


74  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

I  broke  my  promise  to  you,  grandmamma.  I  have 
quarreled  with  Octopia.  I  will  not  do  it  again. 
I  could  not  sleep  until  I  told  you.  I  am  very 
sorry." 

"That  will  not  keep  me  from  having  another 
scene  with  her  to-morrow.  You  cannot  control 
yourself,  and  the  consequences  fall  on  me." 

'*  I  am  sorry ! "  exclaimed  Olivia. 

"  And  why  should  you  distress  me  about  it  to- 
night?" 

"  I  thought  it  was  right  to  speak." 

"  Well,  well,  go  to  bed  now ;  and,  for  my  sake, 
child,  keep  a  better  watch  on  yourself.  Was  she 
very  angry  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  so.     It  was  about  the  war." 

"  Between  you  I  have  no  peace." 

"  I  think,  grandmamma,  that  Richard  Darnell's 
failure  to  come  makes  Octopia  more  miserable 
and  more  exasperating  as  to  everything  connected 
with  the  war.  I  never  saw  her  looking  worse." 

"  The  more  reason  to  be  patient." 

"  Yes,  I  know  that.  But  I  am  sorry  he  is  com- 
ing. It  doesn't  seem  right  that  he  should  ask 
helpless  women  to  keep  his  rebel  secrets." 

"  I  like  it  no  better  than  you  ;  but  perhaps  he 
may  not  come  at  all.  I  have  often  observed,  dear, 
that  sometimes  things  do  not  happen  —  and  now 
go  to  bed ;  I  am  very  tired." 


CHAPTER    IX. 

"  Nor  could  humanity  resign 
An  hour  which  bade  her  heart  beat  high, 
And  blazoned  duty's  stainless  shield, 
And  set  a  star  in  honor's  sky." 

EXCEPT  for  its  influence  on  the  fortunes  of 
those  involved  in  our  tale,  the  war  concerns  us  lit- 
tle. The  great  Northern  soldier  found  himself 
checked  at  each  effort  to  flank  his  wary  opponent, 
and  on  the  morning  of  the  7th  of  May  began  his 
march  on  Spottsylvania  Court-House.  Before 
him  lay  an  undulating  country  dotted  with  pine 
groves,  marshes,  and  forests ;  behind  him,  the 
Wilderness,  in  its  tangled  recesses  an  army  of  the 
dead,  smouldering  fires,  mangled  trees,  deserted 
homes,  shattered  log-cabins,  and  here  and  there  a 
hurt  and  helpless  soldier,  —  in  gray  or  blue,  — 
lost  in  the  dense  undergrowth,  moaning  life  away 
unheard,  amidst  torturing  memories  of  home.  On 
the  agony  of  man  and  nature  fell  the  silence  of 
desertion  as  the  cruel  ruin  of  battles  swept  away 
to  the  eastward. 

We  follow  the  armies  only  to  record  an  incident 
which  gravely  influenced  the  life  of  Roland  Blake, 
as  indeed  each  day  and  hour  of  the  war  must  have 
told  enduringly  on  the  moral  and  physical  consti- 
tution of  every  sensitive  man  in  those  great  hosts. 


76  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

Philip  Francis  was,  like  his  old  room-mate  and 
friend,  attached  for  a  time  to  the  provost-marshal's 
department,  and  was  in  command  of  a  portion  of 
the  cavalry  guard  of  that  official.  Blake's  late 
assignment  to  duty  in  the  bureau  of  information 
brought  them  anew  into  closer  relations  than  had 
been  possible  while  the  latter  was  still  in  an  infan- 
try regiment.  At  Harvard  accident  had  made 
them  sharers  in  a  sitting-room,  and  their  acquaint- 
ance began  with  some  mutual  antipathies  and  a 
fair  share  of  liking.  The  Philadelphian  was  at- 
tractive to  the  New  England  man  by  reason  of  a 
certain  joyousness  which  contrasted  with  his  own 
far  graver  nature.  Both  men  had  a  happy  sense  of 
the  humorous  side  of  life,  but  with  Blake,  as  with 
most  men,  it  came  and  went,  and  rarely  controlled 
him.  For  the  other,  life  was  a  constant  merry~ 
making  of  the  very  soul,  and  humor  was  like  an 
atmosphere  within  which  all  other  moods  seemed 
possible.  At  times  it  annoyed  the  calmer  friend, 
just  as  his  own  tendency  to  a  mystical  manner  of 
stating  what  was  often  simple  enough  comically  ex- 
asperated Francis.  Blake  worked  hard,  and,  as  his 
/  friend  said,  "  believed  hard,"  and  was  anti-slavery 
to  the  core.  At  times  they  quarreled,  and,  like 
young  fellows,  would  decline  to  speak  to  each 
other ;  but  then,  as  Francis  said,  "  That  eternal 
grin  of  mine  is  a  dreadful  peace-maker ;  and  I 
never  had  character  enough  to  keep  up  a  row." 

The  Philadelphia  man  left  the  bar  to  take  up 
arms ;  he  laughed  at  himself  and  his  reasons,  but 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  77 

he  was  in  fact  honestly  stirred  by  the  sense  of 
national  insult  and  of  his  country's  peril ;  his  New 
England  friend  had  hastened  home  from  his  broken 
studies  at  the  School  of  Mines  in  Paris  on  a  like 
errand ;  and  now,  older  and  more  mature,  the 
chances  of  war  had  brought  them  together  again. 

It  was  night,  the  llth  of  May.  Well  to  the 
rear  of  Hancock's  corps,  among  the  headquarter 
tents,  a  few  camp-fires  were  burning  among  woods 
thinned  by  the  axe.  A  heavy,  sullen  rain  fell 
drearily  through  a  fog  which  made  of  every  object 
at  a  distance  a  grayish  silhouette.  Under  the 
slight  protection  of  a  shelter-tent,  before  one  of 
the  fires,  Blake  and  Francis  lay  on  the  ground, 
wet  and  tired  out,  and  getting  what  consolation 
they  might  from  their  brierwood  pipes. 

"  I  told  you  we  had  come  to  stay,"  said  Blake. 

"  Yes,  by  Jove,  —  a  good  many  of  us.  Luckily, 
you  and  I  have  been  out  of  the  worst  of  it  of  late ; 
but  I  shall  get  hit  again  to-morrow.  I  really  think 
I  must  be  personally  attractive  to  bullets." 

"That  is  your  only  superstition,  Phil.  Can't 
you  believe  in  the  truth  of  chance  ?  It  is  a  mere 
matter  of  luck." 

"  What  are  luck,  and  truth,  and  chance  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  could  put  them  in  the  form  of  an 
equation  for  you,  Phil.  Now,  luck  is  to  time 
as"  — 

"  Please  don't,"  said  Francis,  kicking  at  one  of 
the  smouldering  logs  ;  "  there  's  mist  enough  out- 
side to-night.  When  you  begin  to  be  metaphys- 


78  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

ical  I  always  feel  like  a  steamer  in  a  fog,  and  as 
if  the  only  thing  left  for  me  was  to  anchor  and 
blow  a  fog-horn." 

Blake  laughed.  "  In  old  days  we  should  have 
ended  in  a  row.  Do  you  remember  how  at  last 
we  agreed  to  put  on  the  gloves  every  Friday 
morning  to  settle  the  week's  disputes  ?  " 

"  Don't  I  ?  And  I  always  got  licked,  —  just  as 
I  always  get  hit  nowadays." 

"  Nonsense  !  Let 's  go  to  bed.  I  hope  I  shan't 
dream  again  about  that  scoundrel  who  shot  me. 
I  do  not  see  why  he  haunts  me  as  he  does.  It 
would  be  odd  if  I  should  ever  meet  him  again." 

"  Somebody  else  is  a  little  superstitious  to-night. 
Perhaps  it 's  catching." 

"  What  is  it,  orderly  ?  "  The  aids  of  the  gen- 
eral in  command  were  all  off  on  duty,  and  as 
usual,  any  unemployed  officer  of  the  provost-mar- 
shal was  called  upon  in  the  emergency. 

"  You  won't  be  bothered  with  dreams  to-night, 
Roland,"  said  Francis  laughing  as  they  rode  away 
to  carry  orders  to  various  corps  commanders. 

Returning  wet  and  weary  at  midnight,  Blake 
saw  the  dark  masses  of  Hancock's  corps  tramping 
silently  out  of  their  intrenched  lines  through  a 
dense  gray  fog.  At  dawn  a  fury  of  musketiy 
broke  forth  at  the  front,  where  Hancock  was 
sweeping  over  Ewell's  works.  The  two  young  men 
were  kept  busy  all  day  providing  for  the  security 
of  the  prisoners  taken  in  the  morning.  Meanwhile, 
the  doubtful  battle  raged  with  ceaseless  vehe- 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  79 

Towards  evening  Francis  received  a  hasty  order 
to  take  three  companies  of  the  provost's  guard  to 
the  front  as  reinforcements.  Blake  asked  leave  to 
join  the  party,  as  for  the  time  his  duties  did  not 
detain  him.  Receiving  permission,  he  hastily  re- 
joined his  friend. 

A  short  march  through  dense  woods  and  mud 
brought  them  into  a  position  indicated  by  an  aid. 
It  was  for  the  time  out  of  danger,  and  Blake,  de- 
spite his  experience  of  war,  began  to  look  about 
him  with  the  interested  curiosity  which  never  left 
him.  Before  them  rose  a  little  elevation,  from 
which  the  ground  fell  away  to  the  front ;  behind 
them,  from  a  still  higher  eminence,  a  number  of 
guns  were  throwing  shells  over  our  lines  into  those 
of  the  rebels,  who  were  replying  in  like  fashion. 
The  earth  was  covered  with  the  early  green  leaf- 
lets, twigs,  and  branches,  mowed  by  bullets  which 
flew  in  constant  flight  overhead.  The  whoop  and 
scream  of  shells  and  the  howl  of  solid  shot  made  a 
chorus  wild  as  the  orchestra  of  hell,  and  now  and 
again  the  increasing  fire  of  small  arms  added  the 
whir  and  whistle  of  their  balls  to  the  tumultuous 
din  of  war. 

A  half  hour  later  an  order  to  advance  to  the 
top  of  the  slope  carried  them  forward  under  fire. 
Francis  watched  his  men  anxiously  as  they  fell 
into  line  on  the  summit  of  the  hillock,  aware  that 
some  of  them  had  seen  but  little  service.  Mean- 
while a  fragment  of  a  brigade  passed  by  them,  hav- 
ing fallen  back  in  order  to  renew  its  ammunition. 


80  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

The  infantry  men  chaffed  the  dismounted  troopers 
as  they  passed. 

"  Steady !  "  said  Francis,  with  his  ever-ready 
smile,  —  "  steady  ! "  and  Blake  moved  along  the 
line,  talking  to  the  men,  and  keenly  observant. 

Still  the  leaves  and  branches  dropped  as  from 
unseen  scythes  in  air,  and  about  them  the  bullets 
flew,  now  with  a  dull  thud  on  the  trees  and  now 
with  a  duller  sound  on  limb  or  trunk  of  man.  A 
half-dozen  men  dropped  in  as  many  minutes,  and, 
as  usual,  the  soldiers  began  to  tend  into  groups, 
with  some  instinctive  sense  of  obtaining  protec- 
tion by  neighborhood  to  their  fellows. 

"  Steady !  "  said  Francis ;  "  mark  time !  Now, 
again !  That 's  better  !  " 

The  signs  of  nervous  excitement  were  visible 
enough :  one  man  incessantly  wiped  his  gun-barrel, 
another  buttoned  and  unbuttoned  his  coat,  a  third 
stood,  pale  and  tremulous,  looking  hastily  to  left 
and  right,  whilst  a  tall  soldier  attracted  the  atten- 
tion of  Blake  by  talking  volubly. 

"  Now,  steady !  "  said  Blake,  facing  them  and 
marking  time  as  he  stepped  backward.  "  So ! 
That  will  do.  Now  forward  —  double  quick  !  " 

They  passed  the  torn  abatis  and  slashes  which 
before  dawn  lay  in  front  of  the  rebel  lines  and 
now  within  our  own,  and  in  a  few  moments  were 
at  the  front,  behind  the  breastworks  to  the  left 
of  the  murderous  "  Angle."  Kneeling  in  double 
rows,  they  took  the  places  left  vacant  by  a  part  of 
a  regiment  sent  back  in  turn  to  replenish  its  car- 
tridge belts. 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  81 

The  "  Hot  Corner  "  to  the  right  and  the  adjoin- 
ing lines,  which  Lee  had  lost  at  dawn,  had  been 
furiously  contested  in  repeated  charges  all  that 
long  day  of  May.  But  now  for  a  brief  season 
there  was  a  respite. 

The  firing  ceased  a  few  moments  after  they 
reached  their  station,  and  Blake  had  leisure  to 
observe  the  effect  of  the  most  ferocious  struggle 
of  the  war.  The  lines  were  straight  to  left  and 
right,  but  to  the  westward  of  where  he  stood  was 
the  "  Hot  Corner,"  better  known  as  "  the  Angle." 
Its  open  side  looked  towards  the  rebel  lines.  Orig- 
inally a  well-built  breastwork,  it  had  been  contin- 
ually strengthened  as  chance  allowed,  and  was  now 
a  mass  of  earth,  tree-trunks,  and  rails.  The  woods 
were  dense  on  each  side,  and  in  them  during  the 
brief  pauses  in  this  awful  day  the  combatants  of 
either  side  lay  close  to  the  disputed  barrier.  Blake 
walked  down  the  lines  to  the  left  crouching  low  to 
avoid  a  shot.  Before  him  lay  a  broad  clearing,  and 
twelve  hundred  yards  distant  a  thick  wood,  which 
sheltered  the  rebel  lines  and  ran  towards  and  up 
to  the  bloody  angle.  The  smoke  lifted  slowly, 
as  if  reluctantly  unveiling  the  countless  wounded 
and  dead  in  the  open.  The  dusk  was  gradually 
deepening.  For  an  hour  or  two  there  had  been 
no  serious  assault ;  yet  those  who  had  met  the 
gallant  Confederates  knew  but  too  well  their  habit 
of  a  final  and  desperate  onset  just  before  nightfall. 
Officers  came  and  went,  ammunition  was  distrib- 
uted, tired  men  rose  from  brief  repose,  new  bri- 


82  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

gades  came  up,  and  a  relative  stillness  of  grim  ex- 
pectation fell  on  the  close-set  lines  behind  the  torn 
field-works.  Then  there  was  stir  and  movement  in 
among  the  distant  woods.  Forms  of  men  dimly 
seen  filled  the  dark  interspaces  of  the  far-away 
forests  across  the  clearing,  and  swarmed  out  of 
them  until  long  gray  lines,  one  behind  another,  in 
close  formation,  told  to  those  who  watched  them 
what  was  coming. 

Standing  behind  Francis's  men,  glass  in  hand, 
Blake  awaited  the  onset.  His  friend  passed  him, 
smiling  as  ever.  The  gray  lines  grew  nearer, 
advancing  slowly  ;  the  officers  well  in  front,  mark- 
ing time,  then  pausing  and  at  last  falling  into  and 
behind  the  moving  mass.  Then  they  came  faster. 
Just  in  front  of  Blake  a  single  officer,  in  a  gray 
shirt  and  without  a  coat,  kept  his  place  before  his 
men.  The  long  gray  line,  five  hundred  yards 
distant,  broke  with  wild  yells  into  a  rush;  a  fury 
of  musketry  burst  forth  at  the  angle  to  the  left 
in  the  denser  woods ;  officers  cried  out,  "  Keep 
cool !  Steady !  Hold  your  fire !  " 

Blake  dropped  his  glass.  Francis  cried  out  to 
him,  "  Get  down,  you  fool !  "  As  he  crouched  he 
saw  the  now  irregular  line,  and  even  the  set, 
grim  faces  of  the  men,  — earth  has  seen  no  braver. 

Then  the  fury  of  fire  and  smoke  began,  —  an 
inconceivable  tumult  of  shouts,  cries,  oaths,  the 
ping-ping  of  minie  and  musket-shot,  and  a  dark- 
ness of  gray  death-mists  flashing  venomous  tongues 
of  fire.  Through  torn  smoke-veils  Blake  saw  the 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  83 

near  faces,  black  and  furious.  Of  the  awful  strug- 
gle, as  men  were  shot,  stabbed,  pulled  over  as 
prisoners  to  either  side,  beaten  down  with  clubbed 
/  muskets,  he  knew  little  that  he  could  recall  a  day 
after.  There  was  a  pause,  confusion,  wild  shouts, 
hurrahs,  to  left  and  right,  a  sense  of  having  won, 
—  he  knew  not  how  or  why,  —  and  he  found  him- 
self leaping  down  from  the  top  of  the  breastwork 
with  an  amazed  sense  of  victory,  in  his  left  hand 
an  empty  revolver,  still  smoking,  in  his  right  a 
broken  musket.  He  drew  a  long  breath,  and, 
perfectly  exhausted,  looked  about  him.  He  was 
unhurt.  Around  him  were  prisoners,  dead  and 
wounded  soldiers,  men  afoot  tottering,  men  on 
the  ground  convulsed,  and  a  mere  mob  of  smoke- 
begrimed  soldiers,  with  alert  officers  swiftly  mov- 
ing to  and  fro,  swearing,  and  howling  orders  in 
an  effort  to  get  their  people  together. 

The  smoke  lifted  or  blew  away,  and  Blake 
stared  half  dazed  at  the  broken  columns  melted 
to  a  mob  on  the  plain,  some  staggering,  some 
crawling  away  wounded,  some  in  broken  groups, 
the  greater  mass  huddled  together  and  making 
for  the  sheltering  forest. 

The  fight  was  over ;  but  not  a  hundred  yards 
distant  the  colonel  who  had  led  the  immediate 
attack  was  seen  in  the  dusky  twilight  walking 
calmly  and  scornfully  away.  As  he  became  visi- 
ble, shots  went  by  him.  Then  a  soldierly  emotion 
touched  some  heart  as  brave  as  his  own ;  an  officer 
leaped  on  to  the  breastwork  and  culled  out,  "  Damn 
it,  don't  fire  !  Three  cheers  for  the  Reb  !  "  A 


84  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

wild  hurrah  rose  from  the  Northern  line.  Whether 
the  officer  concerned  understood  it  or  not  were 
hard  to  say,  but  he  wheeled  suddenly,  faced  our 
breastworks,  saluted  formally  as  if  on  parade, 
and  again  turning,  renewed  his  walk,  while  cheer 
on  cheer  thundered  along  our  lines. 

Blake  raised  his  field-glass  and  watched  him. 
Suddenly  he  saw  him  sway,  recover  himself,  and 
then,  doubling  up,  drop  on  the  ground. 

"  My  God,  how  pitiful ! "  exclaimed  the  New 
England  man. 

It  was  now  getting  darker ;  but  Blake  noted 
well  where  he  fell.  Victory  is  only  less  confus- 
ing than  defeat.  Threading  his  way  through  the 
thickly-lying  dead  and  wounded  gray  and  blue, 
—  for  thrice  the  Confederates  had  been  within 
the  captured  lines,  —  he  moved  slowly  along 
among  perplexing  masses  of  intertangled  brigades 
and  regiments  in  search  of  his  friend.  At  last, 
returning,  he  found  Francis.  They  shook  hands 
warmly.  Both  felt  the  immense  sense  of  relief 
which  the  close  of  a  battle  brings  to  the  bravest. 

"  Well,  old  man,"  said  Blake,  "  so  you  're  clear 
this  time.  So  much  for  presentiments !  Did  you 
see  that  rebel  colonel?  I  mean  to  have  a  look 
for  him." 

"  Nonsense,  —  you  would  never  find  him,  — 
come  and  help  me.  We  have  lost  awfully.  Some 
of  the  men  got  over  in  the  rushes  and  are  lying 
hurt  outside.  Let  us  try  to  get  my  people  to- 
gether ;  it  will  be  dark  in  a  half  hour,  and  I  may 
be  able  to  bring  in  some  of  my  own  poor  fellows," 


CHAPTER  X. 

u  She  sees  with  clearer  eyes  than  ours 
The  good  of  suffering  born,  — 
The  hearts  that  blossom  like  her  flowers, 
And  ripen  like  her  corn." 

DRUM  and  bugle  rolled  out  rallying  notes  ;  the 
stretcher-bearers  went  through  the  woods  with 
their  sad  loads ;  some  of  the  wounded  limped 
along,  or  used  a  comrade's  aid;  axe  and  spade 
were  again  at  work  on  the  field-works.  Every- 
where through  the  woods  officers  went  and  came 
in  almost  hopeless  efforts  to  remake  the  regi- 
mental organizations,  while  the  men,  literally  ex- 
hausted, lay  resting  in  broken  lines,  or  in  groups, 
comfortable  over  their  individual  escapes  and  the 
day's  results.  Meanwhile  the  rain  fell  steadily, 
and  a  dark  fog  lay  on  the  open  like  a  winding- 
sheet  over  all  that  awful  space  between  the  forest 
shelters  of  blue  and  gray. 

As  if  by  common  consent  the  firing  ceased  en- 
tirely, —  a  truce  without  verbal  agreement,  that 
the  hurt  of  either  side  might  get  relief.  As  night 
fell,  single  men  and  small  details  began  to  creep 
out  on  to  the  field,  to  bring  in  their  wounded 
comrades.  After  helping  his  friend  to  look  for 
the  hurt  of  his  own  command,  Blake  waited  for  a 
time,  and  then,  mingling  with  the  ambulance-men 


86  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

and  the  more  venturesome  soldiers,  moved  slowly 
out  on  to  the  clearing.  His  emotional  admiration 
of  the  act  of  courage  he  had  seen,  and  his  pity  at 
the  tragic  ending  of  it,  stirred  all  the  romance  of 
a  nature  to  which  life  had  brought  small  chance 
for  its  practical  development.  He  wondered  a 
little  at  the  despotism  of  the  impulse  which 
urged  him  to  an  act  of  sentimental  rashness  ;  but 
the  poetic  side  of  a  very  complex  character  now 
and  then  asserted  itself  in  Blake  and  for  a  time 
thrust  aside  all  coarser  considerations.  He  had  a 
,  theory  that  every  man  knows  himself  in  reality ; 
yet  these  romantic  insurrections  were  more  or 
less  a  surprise  to  him.  A  man  is  most  himself 
\J  when  he  feels,  and  the  young  soldier  might  have 
had  some  indistinct  knowledge  that  these  soul- 
stirring  moods  were  revelations  to  the  man  of  his 
nobler  self. 

He  had  concluded  that  the  officer  was  beyond 
help  from  his  own  people,  and  too  far  to  be  easily 
aided  by  ours,  and  he  was  resolute  to  see  what  he 
could  do  for  him. 

He  looked  about  him,  bending  low  as  he  went, 
to  avoid  notice,  quite  aware  that  he  was  disobey- 
ing rules.  The  darkening  mass  of  the  Federal 
wood  line  was  hardly  more  visible  than  the  distant 

/shelter  of  the  Confederates.  The  rain  fell  drear- 
ily, and  a  mixture  of  strange  odors  rose  through 
the  fog  from  the  sodden  soil.  Thick  around  him 
lay  the  dead.  Save  in  the  awful  railway-cut  at 
Antietam,  he  had  never  seen  before  literally  heaps 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  87 

of  fallen  men.  Here  and  there  one  of  these  piles 
moved  visibly,  as  an  arm  or  leg  was  thrust  out. 
while,  between  the  far-away  hum  of  life  in  the 
two  lines,  from  over  all  the  open  space  where  he 
stood  faint  cries  and  groans  rose  and  fell. 

This  monstrous  mass  of  unrelievable  suffering 
overwhelmed  the  young  man  with  a  sense  of 
horror  which  for  a  moment  gave  him  the  desire 
to  escape  it  by  flight.  He  stopped  and  steadied 
himself.  He  had  "  lined  "  the  spot  where  the  rebel 
fell,  by  the  aid  of  a  pine-tree  which  rose  far  above 
the  Confederate  woods.  Sure  that  he  must  be 
near  to  the  place  he  sought,  he  began  to  look 
about  him  with  more  care.  When  on  the  point 
of  giving  up  in  despair,  he  heard  a  voice  near  by, 
and  the  abrupt  sound  of  a  natural  human  utter- 
ance startled  him :  — 

"  Halloa,  there  !     Who  are  you  ?  " 

"A  friend,  whoever  you  are,"  said  Blake,  mov- 
ing towards  the  sound.  A  man,  but  not  the  one 
he  sought,  was  lying  against  a  tree  stump. 

By  this  time  Roland  had  come  to  a  sense  of  the 

/  failure  of  his  romantic  quest.     He  was  about  to 

be  hustled  by  the  vigilant  police  force  of  common 

sense,  with  flourish  of  the  bludgeon  "I  told  you 

so." 

"  Then  tie  something  round  my  leg,"  said  the 
soldier.  "  I  am  hit,  and  I  think  I  am  bleeding  to 
death.  I  can't  check  it." 

The  young  captain,  like  other  sensible  line- 
oflicers,  had  taken  pains  early  in  the  war  to  learn 


88  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

something  of  the  surgery  of  emergencies.  In  a 
few  moments  he  had  secured  his  handkerchief  on 
the  leg,  and  with  a  broken  fragment  of  a  branch 
from  a  low  bush  had  so  twisted  it  as  to  arrest  the 
flow  of  blood. 

"That  will  hold,  but  perhaps  not  long,"  he 
said. 

"  Then  I  am  done  for.  I  am  too  far  from  our 
lines  to  crawl  in  or  be  looked  after." 

"I  can  carry  you  into  our  own  works,"  said 
Blake,  who  was  getting  a  little  interest  in  the 
gentle-voiced  Confederate. 

"  By  George !  if  you  only  would !  Betwixt 
death  and  a  prison  I  select  the  least  evil.  I  am 
getting  dizzy.  Make  haste,  please.  If  I  die,  will 
you  see  that  my  sister  gets  my  watch?  My  name 
y  is  Darnell,  —  Richard  Darnell."  He  spoke 
faintly. 

Blake  rose.  The  voice  had  puzzled  him.  Now 
he  knew.  His  doubt  was  at  an  end.  To  leave 
this  man  would  be  an  act  of  revenge.  He  stooped 
down,  raised  him,  and  at  last  got  him  on  his  back, 
and  staggering  in  the  dark  over  dim  and  grewsome 
piles  of  the  slain,  approached  our  lines,  where  the 
stretcher-bearers  were  busy  with  the  wounded. 

With  some  difficulty  he  found  a  blanket  and 
two  men  to  aid  him,  so  that  within  a  half  hour  he 
had  his  prisoner  at  one  of  the  field-hospitals  in 
the  immediate  rear  of  the  division.  An  assistant 
surgeon  known  to  Blake  was  secured  with  some 
trouble,  and  it  was  then  found  that  a  ball  through 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  89 

the  thigh  had  done  the  mischief,  and  that  the  man 
was  slowly  bleeding  to  death.  The  vessel  was 
tied,  the  wound  dressed,  and  aided  by  a  little 
brandy,  the  rebel  at  last  opened  his  eyes,  and  in 
an  hour  or  more  began  to  take  in  some  idea  of  his 
surroundings. 

"  Where  am  I  ?  "  he  said,  at  last. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Blake.  "  Here,  drink  this 
soup."  And  then,  seeing  his  uneasy  restless  look, 
he  thought  best  to  explain  to  the  hurt  man  that 
he  was  a  prisoner  and  would  be  well  cared  for. 

"  I  begin  to  remember.  Some  one  carried  me 
in.  I  am  awfully  hazy  about  it.  Was  it  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  was  I." 

"Don't  talk  any  more,"  said  the  surgeon,  as 
Blake  stepped  aside.  "  You  've  hardly  got  blood 
enough  left  to  keep  the  quietest  life  a-going. 
Captain  Blake  brought  you  to  the  ambulance; 
that's  all  I  know  about  it.  You  are  a  pretty 
lucky  fellow,  I  think.  Another  half  hour  or  so 
would  have  finished  you.  Here  is  your  handker- 
chief, Blake.  Scarce  article,  —  best  to  take  it." 

Roland  turned  back,  took  it,  and  said,  "  Good- 

by." 

"  Thank  you,"  returned  the  Confederate. 
"  You  '11  see  me  again,  won't  you  ?  " 

"All  right,"  said  Blake,  moving  away.  After 
walking  rapidly  for  a  few  minutes  he  suddenly 
noticed  that  he  was  absently  carrying  the  blood- 
stained handkerchief.  He  paused  at  a  smoulder- 
ing camp-fire,  and  cast  it  into  the  embers  with 


90  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

a  look  of  utter  disgust,  and  then  strode  away 
hastily  into  the  woods.  The  exultation  of  his 
mood  was  over,  and  he  began  to  know,  as  he  had 
oftentimes  known  before,  that  if  he  continued 
to  dwell  on  the  matter  what  had  but  now  seemed 
to  him  a  rather  chivalrous  duty  might  assume  less 
romantic  aspects.  He  was  apprenticed  to  the  very 
practical  trade  of  war.  What  he  had  done  was 
none  of  his  business. 

Having  got  thus  far,  he  became  annoyed  at 
himself,  determined  to  keep  quiet  about  the  mat- 
ter, and,  mentally  declining  to  reconsider  it  fur- 
ther, turned  to  look  after  his  thick-coming  duties. 

The  next  morning  he  received  a  little  note, 
scrawled  in  pencil  on  an  envelope,  to  this  effect :  — 

DEAB  ROLAND,  —  Hurrah  for  presentiments! 
A  stray  bullet  has  reinforced  my  beliefs.  I  am 
in  the  division  hospital  at  the  rear,  under  old 
Upton's  care,  with  a  little  minie-ball  as  a  tender 
souvenir  of  the  very  attentive  Johnnies.  It  was 
a  spent  shot.  It  is  in  my  porte-monnaie  this 
morning,  and  was  in  my  side  last  night.  By  luck 
or  chance,  it  went  round  in  place  of  through. 

There  is  a  handsome  fellow  near  me  who  says 
an  officer  named  Blake  carried  him  into  our 
lines  last  night.  Seems  a  queer  story.  Was  it 
one  of  your  eccentricities?  The  man  says  he  was 
in  the  rebel  camp  on  civil  duty,  and  volunteered, 
like  a  jackass  (the  phrase  is  his,  but  I  quite 
agree  with  him),  and  that  his  name  is  Richard 
Darnell. 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  91 

I  am  off,  invalided,  for  the  North,  if  they  can 
get  transportation,  this  A.  M.  I  am  glad  enough. 
Any  man  who  says  he  loves  fighting  is  like  that 
traditional  individual  who  says  he  does  n't  like 
sweet  champagne.  Good-by,  in  case  you  can't 
get  over  here.  I  may  say  that  Johnny  Eeb  goes 
along.  I  like  him,  rather. 

Yours,  presentimentally,         PHIL. 

It  was  night  before  Blake  found  a  moment's 
leisure  to  reconsider  the  startling  incident  of  the 
last  day.  Then  he  read  Francis's  note  anew,  and 
took  counsel  of  a  pipe. 

The  scoundrel,  now  a  helpless  prisoner,  had 
been  officially  in  relations  with  him  which  utterly 
forbade  his  denouncing  him  as  out  of  the  pale  of 
protection  of  the  laws  of  war,  —  a  double  traitor. 
He  had  given  the  man  a  pledge  of  secrecy,  and 
would  keep  it.  It  was  clear  that  the  spy  had  not 
recognized  him,  and,  as  he  well  remembered,  he 
had,  for  some  reason  or  no  reason,  recoiled  from 
mentioning  his  own  name  during  their  brief  inter- 
view. And  now,  by  a  strange  fate,  he  had  saved 
this  man's  life.  Blake  strode  up  and  down  before 
a  dismal  camp-fire,  at  one  moment  interested  by 
the  romance  of  the  situation,  at  another  reflecting 
with  disgust  on  what  he  should  say  if  ever  this 
rascal  should  chance  to  thank  him  for  the  life  he 
had  saved.  Here  was  a  manner  of  Frankenstein 
whom  he  had  given  at  least  a  fresh  lease  of 
existence.  Then  he  smiled  at  the  quaint  notion 


92  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

of  responsibility  thus  brought  before  him.  There 
was  clearly  nothing  to  do  but  to  let  the  villain 
pass  out  of  his  life.  What  bewildered  him  was 
the  combination  of  gallantry  with  treachery,  of 
the  darkest  dishonor  with  that  reckless  courage 
which  finds  some  joy  in  peril. 

"  I  would  give  a  great  deal  to  forget  it  all,"  he 
said  to  himself,  "  but  I  shall  remember  it  as  one 
does  a  bad  nightmare." 

The  dark  tide  of  war  swept  down  to  the  Appo- 
mattox  and  away  to  the  trenches  in  front  of 
Petersburg  before  Blake  was  enabled  to  rejoin 
his  regiment.  Meanwhile,  he  heard  from  Francis 
occasionally  to  the  effect  that  he  was  slowly  re- 
gaining his  health,  which  had  been  rudely  shaken 
by  his  frequent  wounds. 

On  Christmas  Day  Blake  wrote  thus :  — 

DEAR  PHIL,  —  Since  I  found  delight  as  a 
small  boy  in  mud  pies  and  in  breaking  things, 
which  seems  to  be  an  elementary  instinct,  I  have 
never  seen  mankind  in  a  condition  for  so  favor- 
ably indulging  these  tastes  as  we  have  been  in 
this  December.  I  went  down  with  Warren  on  a 
bloodless  riot  of  destruction  along  the  Weldon 
Road.  The  country  was  one  vast  mud-pudding. 
It  was  curious  to  see  men  take  pleasure  in  in- 
genious destruction.  This  ruin  of  the  knitting 
bonds  of  useful  intercourse,  the  tumble  of  tele- 
graphs, the  wreck  of  rails  fire-twisted  to  useless- 
ness,  seemed  to  me  more  barbarous  than  killing 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  93 

men.  But  I  am  only  half  soldier,  and  at  times 
v  half  woman,  I  believe.  Now  and  then  the  pure 
misery  of  it  all  overfloods  my  soul,  and  I  find  no 
refuge  save  in  dogged  return  to  practical  duty. 
I  suppose  the  every-day-world  life  must  thus  over- 
come the  too  tender.  I  hear  you  laughing  out 
the  wholesome  bitters  of  merry  contempt  at  my 
self-analysis.  Some  of  us  have  to  be  always  shift- 
ing ballast  to  keep  on  an  even  keel.  Pity  such. 

That  man  Darnell  has  been  too  much  in  my 
mind.  Did  you  see  any  more  of  him?  Where 
is  he? 

It  is  a  dreary  Christmas-day,  and  I  sit  alone, 
awfully  blue,  writing  to  you,  who  are  almost  my 
sole  friend  since  my  uncle's  death  this  fall.  Keep 
me  near  you  in  thought  at  least.  I  please  myself 
y  like  an  imaginative  girl  with  the  idea  that  you  are 
not  forgetful  of  me  to-day.  I  don't  say  much  of 
my  affection  for  you,  although  one  forgets  one's 
Anglo-Saxon  shyness  on  paper.  I  confess  with 
freedom  to  that  pure  priest,  a  white  page. 

Good-by.     R. 

P.  S.  — My  old  Chickahominy  malaria  is  at 
me  again.  It  is  punctual  enough  to  be  morally 
instructive. 

Philip  had  that  devoted  admiration  for  Blake 
which  men  of  his  character  sometimes  have  for 
a  larger-minded  man  whom  they  cannot  always 
entirely  comprehend.  He  was  at  present  puzzled 
a  little  as  to  Blake's  interest  in  Darnell,  but  any 


94  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

wish  of  the  former  was  sacred,  and  accordingly 
he  ascertained,  after  much  letter-writing,  that  the 
Confederate  gentleman  was  recovering  from  his 
wound  and  was  a  prisoner  at  Fort  Delaware. 
Presuming  then  that  Blake  would  desire  further 
to  aid  the  man  whose  life  he  had  saved,  he  wrote 
with  characteristic  good  nature  to  the  surgeon  at 
the  fort,  an  old  acquaintance,  forwarding  a  letter 
to  Darnell  with  some  money  and  a  supply  of 
books  and  small  luxuries.  Before  long  he  received 
a  courteous  reply  and  a  warm  note  of  thankful 
acknowledgment  to  Blake  and  himself.  Upon 
this  he  wrote  briefly  to  his  friend,  inclosing  the 
note  and  asking  Blake  if  he  would  like  him  to  go 
to  Fort  Delaware  and  see  the  prisoner. 

To  his  great  amazement,  he  heard  promptly 
from  Roland  in  a  fashion  that  astonished  him  and 
was  almost  too  great  a  trial  of  his  unconquerable 
sweetness  of  disposition.  Blake  wrote  :  — 

"  I  had  a  natural  desire  to  hear  something  of 
Darnell.  I  have  not  the  slightest  wish  to  culti- 
vate any  nearer  acquaintance  with  him.  One's 
interest  in  a  man  may  be  of  various  kinds.  I  had 
some  form  of  it  in  the  miserable  wretch  I  saw 
yshot  for  desertion  yesterday.  I  cannot  make 
clear  to  you  my  reasons,  but  I  never  wish  to  see 
your  rebel  again. 

"  Confound  the  chills !  I  suppose  we  shall 
move  again  soon.  I  am  dreadfully  weary  of  war 
and  especially  of  the  unthinking  obedience  it  en- 
tails on  any  one  who  desires  to  do  his  full  duty  as 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  95 

a  soldier.  Sometimes  I  feel  as  if  I  should  never 
again  be  my  own  master,  or  recover  entirely  my 
sense  of  freedom.  I  am  thankful  that  the  end  is 
near ;  and  near  it  is  despite  the  croaking  editors  at 
the  North.  How  are  you  getting  on,  and  when 
shall  we  smoke  another  pipe  together  ?  " 

"  Well,  upon  my  word,"  exclaimed  Francis,  "  I 
*  am  like  Paul  Pry.  I  shall  certainly  never  do  a 
good-natured  thing  again.  It  must  be  the  chills. 
Poor  old  Roland !  I  should  like  to  be  able  to  un- 
derstand it.  It  is  altogether  so  unlike  him."  And 
with  this  he  dismissed  the  matter,  and,  concluding 
not  to  write  to  his  friend  for  a  few  days,  went  to 
New  York  on  an  errand  of  business  for  his  father, 
an  active  and  prosperous  merchant  in  Philadel- 
phia. 


CHAPTER  XL 

"  Were  there  one  so  lost  as  to  pray  the  fiend  to  keep  him  from  temp- 
tation to  do  good,  be  sure  some  woman  would  still  lore  him." 

AFTER  his  not  unwilling  capture,  Richard  Dar- 
nell lay  for  the  months  of  June  and  July  in  hos- 
pitals before  he  was  finally  well  enough  to  be 
taken  to  the  prison  for  Confederates  at  Fort  Dela- 
ware. His  condition  embarrassed  him.  As  a 
civilian,  no  one  was  interested  in  his  exchange, 
and  he  might  lie  here  until  the  war  was  over. 
While  in  hospitals  he  was  well  and  even  luxu- 
riously cared  for,  but  at  the  fort,  although  he  had 
small  cause  of  complaint,  the  confinement  within 
the  island  space  chafed  him  sorely. 

Towards  the  end  of  August  he  felt  himself 
quite  well  again.  Up  to  this  time  he  had  not 
written  to  Octopia.  He  knew  that  she  must  have 
been  constantly  expecting  to  see  him  ;  but  this 
had  been  the  case  over  and  over  when  from  time 
to  time  his  errand  had  been  postponed  for  one 
reason  or  another  connected  with  the  affairs  of 
the  Confederate  government.  Now  that  he  was 
less  agreeably  situated,  he  began  to  reflect  that 
his  sister  would  be  uneasy  at  his  long  silence,  and 
that  possibly  the  Wynnes  and  her  friend  Mr. 
Pennell  might  be  able  to  make  things  more  pleas- 
ant for  him,  or  to  secure  his  release. 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  97 

At  this  time  a  plot  was  formed  by  the  rebel 
officers  to  seize  the  fort  with  the  aid  of  the  thir- 
teen thousand  men  confined  like  themselves  on 
the  island.  It  was  discovered  in  time  to  prevent 
a  temporary  success  and  the  horrible  loss  of  life 
which  would  have  followed.  Many  officers  were 
sent  away  to  the  West,  and  the  surgeons  and  civil- 
ian prisoners  were  confined  to  the  casemates,  and, 
amidst  other  restrictions,  all  correspondence  was 
put  an  end  to,  so  that  until  November  Darnell 
was  unable  to  communicate  with  Octopia. 

When  at  last  she  heard  from  him  it  was  with 
some  sense  of  relief.  He  was  nearer  now,  and  free 
from,  danger.  Mr.  Pennell  exerted  himself  in  vain 
to  procure  his  exchange  or  to  mitigate  the  annoy- 
ances of  a  captive's  life.  The  rebel  gentleman  had 
proved  a  perverse  and  dangerous  prisoner,  his  tem- 
per and  recklessness  having  led  him  into  constant 
conflict  with  the  rules  of  war. 

Then  at  last  he  resolved  to  escape,  —  a  difficult 
task,  but  not  easily  set  aside  by  a  man  who 
dreaded  nothing  so  much  as  the  continuance  of 
confinement. 

Meanwhile,  Octopia,  despairing  of  his  release, 
was  wretched,  and  turned  more  and  more  for  com- 
fort and  help  to  Olivia. 

It  was  now  January.  One  morning  early  she 
sent  in  haste  for  Olivia,  who  found  her  flushed 
and  excited,  for  once  forgetful  of  herself. 

"  Olive  !  Olive  !  "  she  said,  "  shut  the  door. 
Shut  both  doors.  Sit  down.  I  have  had  a  tele- 


98  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

gram  from  Dick,  from  Baltimore.  It  is  signed 
'  Richard  Wynne ; '  so  that  I  am  sure  it  is  he  ; 
he  must  have  escaped.  I  knew  those  cowardly 
Yankees  could  not  keep  him  if  he  meant  to  get 
away.  He  says  he  will  be  here  to-night  at  seven. 
Oh  I  are  you  not  glad  ?  " 

Olivia  said  she  was  glad.  "  But  what  a  risk," 
she  added,  "  to  come  North  now  !  " 

"  What  Darnell  ever  feared  risk,  dear  ?  " 

That  he  was  selfishly  compromising  his  cousins 
did  not  suggest  itself  to  Octopia. 

"  And  what  can  we  do  with  him  ?  "  said  Olive. 
"  He  can't  stay  here." 

"  Oh,  he  will  take  care  of  himself.  I  am  so 
glad  to  have  you  know  him." 

She  saw  in  anticipation  the  manly  figure,  the 
lustrous,  seeking,  restless  eyes. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Olive  rather  disconsolately, 
"  it  will  worry  grandmamma  almost  to  death." 

"  Dear  love,  think  what  it  is  to  me  to  see  Dick  ! 
Cousin  Anne  will  be  kind  to  him,  I  know.  She 
can't  help  liking  him." 

"  I  suppose  it  must  be,"  said  Olive.  "  I  will 
tell  her,  and  we  will  do  our  best.  I  wish  he  were 
in  the  South.  It  would  be  safer  and  better." 

"  Safer,  perhaps,  —  not  better.  You  think  too 
little  of  others,  Olive.  You  are  sometimes  very 
hard  for  a  girl  so  young  as  you." 

"  I  do  not  mean  to  be.  But  indeed  I  hate  these 
endless  mysteries." 

Octopia  seemed  not  to  hear  her.     She  flushed 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  99 

proudly  as  she  thought  of  her  brother,  a  man  to 
whom  danger  was  attractive,  liking  power  as  his 
sister  liked  it,  somewhat  feared  by  the  mass  of  his 
fellows  for  the  recklessness  of  his  character,  —  a 
man  of  many  wants,  loving  luxury,  and  with  more 
heart  than  conscience,  —  Octopia  admired  him 
v/  much,  thought  she  knew  him  well,  loved  him  in- 
tensely, dreaded  him  somewhat. 

"  I  shall  dine  with  you,"  he  had  written,  "about 
seven  to-night.  If  I  do  not  come  by  seven  I  shall 
be  with  you  to-morrow." 

"  Ah,  I  am  hardly  up  to  dining  at  seven.  He 
shall  dine  alone  with  Olivia,"  she  thought. 
"  There  is  nothing  like  first  impressions,  and  Dick 
knows  how  to  make  himself  agreeable  enough, 
when  he  chooses ;  "  and  she  smiled.  "  Olivia  would 
make  him  a  good  wife  if  I  were  about  to  keep  her 
in  order." 

"  If  I  have  been  cross  to  you  of  late,  Olive," 
she  said  at  last,  "  you  will  forgive  me,  love.  I 
y  think  it  will  cure  me  to  see  Dick.  You  won't  for- 
get that  he  is  "to  be  Richard  Wynne  ?  " 

Olive  wished  he  had  chosen  another  name. 
The  matter  was  simply  hateful  to  her  from  every 
point  of  view.  Then,  noting  her  silence,  Octopia 
added,  — 

"  You  will  find  it  easy  enough,  you  can  speak 
of  him  as  Cousin  Dick." 

This  did  not  seem  quite  so  simple  to  the  younger 
woman.  Octopia  and  he  were  not  nearer  to  her 
than  the  third  degree  of  cousinship,  and  while 


100  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

long  familiarity  seemed  to  have  brought  his  sister 
close  enough,  Olivia  felt  that  the  case  of  the  man 
might  wear  a  very  different  aspect.  There  was, 
however,  some  novelty  in  the  prospect  of  a  new 
acquaintance,  and  she  went  about  all  day  with  a 
sense  of  annoyance  and  expectation. 

The  grandmother  scarcely  ever  dined  down- 
stairs, and  Octopia  so  rarely  that  when,  late  in 
the  afternoon,  Olivia  received  by  her  cousin's 
maid  a  note  stating  that  Octopia  did  not  feel  well 
and  must  postpone  seeing  her  brother  until  after 
dinner,  the  younger  woman  felt  little  surprise,  but 
more  annoyance.  These  notes  on  the  smallest  oc- 
casions were  a  part  of  the  trivial  incidents  of  Oc- 
topia's  life  ;  and  whenever  she  desired  to  settle  a 
matter  without  chance  of  appeal,  she  resorted  to 
the  device  of  a  note.  Olivia  smiled  as  she  read  it, 
and,  aware  that  her  cousin  always  had  an  unstated 
motive  in  the  background,  awaited  the  dinner- 
hour  with  a  quiet  little  resolution  to  be  on  her 
guard,  hardly  conscious,  however,  of  what  she  was 
to  fear,  but  more  and  more  distrustful. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"  A  woman  sweet  nor  yet  complete." 

1 '  The  wingless  hopes  of  maidenhood  are  hen, 
And  childhood's  coy  delight  in  simple  things." 

ON  the  afternoon  of  the  day  early  in  January 
which  had  brought  Octopia  news  of  her  brother's 
probable  visit,  Philip  Francis  strolled  up  Fifth 
Avenue  somewhat  after  seven  P.  M.  His  wound 
had  healed,  and  he  was  thinking  without  exces- 
sive delight  of  the  fact  that  a  few  weeks  longer 
must  find  him  again  in  the  army.  But  to-day 
was  his  own,  and  for  Francis  the  joy  of  to-day  was 
always  more  pleasantly  sufficient  than  its  evil. 
He  was  in  evening  dress,  and  wore  a  rather  light 
overcoat,  as  the  day,  though  cloudy,  had  not  been 
cold.  He  had  but  a  few  blocks  to  walk  to  the 
house  of  a  newly-married  friend  who  lived  on  the 
avenue,  and  with  whom  he  was  to  dine. 

Feeling  some  drops  of  rain,  he  hastened  his 
pace,  but  was  caught  presently  in  a  chilly  down- 
pour. He  looked  about  him  for  shelter.  The 
night  was  fast  gathering,  and  cabs  were  not  as 
plenty  on  Fifth  Avenue  as  they  are  to-day.  He 
pushed  on,  smiling  as  he  reflected  upon  the  calm- 
ness with  which  one  took  a  ducking  on  the  Rapi- 
dan,  and  how  grave  a  hardship  it  became  on  Fifth 


102  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

Avenue  to  a  man  in  evening  dress  and  a  thin 
overcoat. 

The  numbers  were  difficult  to  see,  but  at  last 
he  ran  up  the  steps  in  a  yet  heavier  flood  of  rain, 
and  with  a  pull  at  the  bell,  took  refuge  beneath 
the  shallow  doorway.  A  man-servant  opened  the 
door,  and  Francis  hastily  stepped  in,  his  first  idea 
being  that  of  escape  from  the  rain,  which  was 
falling  in  volumes. 

The  servant  remarked,  "  You  're  quite  a  bit 
late,  sir.  Miss  Olivia's  been  a-waiting  'most  a 
half  hour." 

Francis  hesitated  a  moment ;  clearly  he  was  in 
the  wrong  house.  He  could  not  be  the  expected 
guest.  He  was  about  to  ask  if  Mr.  Vincent  lived 
there,  when  the  servant  continued,  — 

"  Miss  Olivia  is  down.  There  won't  be  no  one 
else  to-day." 

It  seemed  simple  enough  to  go  out,  if,  as  now 

/    became  yet  more  certain,  he  was  not  in  the  house 

he   sought,  and  which   he   knew   boasted  of   no 

young  women.      But  there  was  the  rain.      The 

absurdity  of  the  situation  amused  him. 

On  entering,  he  had  resigned  his  wet  overcoat 
and  hat  to  the  servant.  Standing  irresolute  for 
a  moment  at  the  entrance  to  the  drawing-room, 
he  began  to  take  in  its  evidence  of  feminine  pur- 
suits, and  was  attacked  with  an  uncomfortable 
sensation  of  the  coming  embarrassment  of  ex- 
plaining to  a  total  stranger  the  circumstances  by 
which  he  had  been  led  to  seek  a  refuge.  "By 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  103 

George!"  he  said,  aloud,  "how  it  rains!  It's 
worse  than  Virginia." 

So  saying,  he  was  about  to  turn  towards  the 
hall  door,  when  he  was  suddenly  met  by  the  ap- 
parition of  a  handsome  well-dressed  woman  who 
came  in  from  the  back  room  and  said,  with  a 
curious  gravity  of  demeanor,  "  What 's  worse  than 
Virginia  ? "  Then  she  paused,  as  if  surprised, 
and  the  servant  walked  away. 

The  man  before  her  was  clean-shaven,  and,  if 
a  little  pale,  was  frank  of  face  and  merry-eyed. 
It  was  a  pleasant  surprise. 

"  I  should  apologize,"  he  said,  hastily.  "  I  am 
drenched." 

"  Not  at  all,"  she  broke  in,  interrupting  him  ; 
and  then,  with  a  quaint  little  stiffness  of  manner 
which  betrayed  embarrassment,  "  Cousin  Richard 
Darnell  is  welcome,  —  most  welcome." 

In  truth,  she  was  interested  and  excited,  and 
also  somewhat  shy,  as  was  natural  in  one  so  young 
who  had  lived  so  long  in  almost  monastic  seclu- 
sion. 

If  she  was  a  little  bewildered,  Mr.  Francis  was 
hardly  less  so.  The  sweet  intelligence  of  a  face 
which  obeyed  now  the  heart  and  now  the  mind, 
the  gentle  primness  due  to  absence  of  youthful 
society,  and  also  perhaps  to  some  more  or  less  un- 
conscious imitation  of  her  grandmother's  courtly 
formality,  combined  with  the  false  position  in 
which  he  had  placed  himself  to  disturb  him.  He 
had  a  slight  attack  of  what  might  be  called  social 


104  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

vertigo,  —  a  trivial  general  disturbance  of  moral 
equilibrium,  too  surely  productive  of  physical 
awkwardness.  Then  the  name  Richard  Darnell 
fell  upon  his  ear  with  a  sudden  shock  which  com- 
pleted his  discomfiture. 

"I  —  I  beg  pardon,"  he  said,  "I  —  I  am  not 
Richard  Darnell.  I  am  Philip  Francis,  of  Phil- 
adelphia;" whereupon,  to  his  amazement,  the 
young  woman  went  past  him  hastily  and  shut 
the  door,  saying,  as  she  did  so,  — 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes ;  I  understand.  I  ought  not  to 
have  called  you  by  your  name,  and  you  have 
made  it  very  confusing.  It  was  imprudent ;  but 
then  these  plots,  these  mysteries  —  oh,  I  hate 
them  !  I  loathe  them !  Pray  do  not  tell  Octopia. 
But  I  don't  think  the  man  heard  me,"  and  she 
glanced  uneasily  down  the  hall  after  the  retreat- 
ing servant. 

During  this  brief  outbreak  of  excited  statement 
Francis  tried  in  vain  to  stop  her  by  a  lifted  hand 
and  a  word  or  two,  by  way  of  an  explanation 
which  was  becoming  to  him,  at  least,  painfully 
necessary.  Olivia's  alarm  and  her  eagerness  to 
excuse  her  imprudence  defeated  him. 

"  We  will  not  tell,"  he  said,  feeling  dreadfully 
foolish.  "  But  really,"  he  added,  "  you  must  al- 
low me  to"  — 

"  But  I  don't  mean  what  I  said  as  to  Octopia. 
I  would  rather  have  you  tell  her.  I  hate  mys- 
teries." 

"  Then  you  will  kindly  permit  me  to  end  this 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  105 

one,"  he  said,  standing  before  her  and  feeling  how 
difficult  any  explanation  had  become.  "  I  am 
Philip  Francis.  I  got  into  your  house  by  mis- 
take, having  meant  to  dine  with  a  friend  who 
must  be  your  neighbor.  The  rain  made  me  hesi- 
tate a  moment,  and  then  you  came  in,  and  —  I 
am  well  aware  it  is  my  fault,  but  Richard  Darnell 
is  not  my  name ;  although  I  believe  that  I  know 
him." 

He  was  instantly  sorry  that  he  had  added  the 
last  phrase. 

The  face  before  him  made  quick  record  of  the 
trouble  within. 

"  What  an  idiot  I  am !  What  a  fool ! "  she  ex- 
claimed. The  coincidence  seemed  to  her  intoler- 
able without  explanation.  "  No,  sir,  you  cannot 
go  —  you  shall  not  go,  without  telling  me  more," 
she  cried.  "  No,  I  don't  mean  to  be  rude ;  but 
what  are  you  ?  Where  did  you  know  my  cousin  ? 
Where  is  he  ?  It  is  not  possible  that  you  can  be 
a  spy?" 

"  I  am  so  very  sorry !  "  exclaimed  Francis. 
"  Pray  let  me  explain !  What  I  told  you  is 
strictly  true ;  and  as  to  the  gentleman  you  named, 
and  with  whom  I  have  had  the  honor  of  being 
confounded,  I  know  very  little  of  him  at  present, 
except  that  he  was  quite  well  a  week  or  two  ago, 
and  that  he  made  a  very  daring  escape  from  Fort 
Delaware  three  days  since.  Where  he  is  now  I 
do  not  know." 

"  Fort  Delaware  !  Escaped !  "  she  said.  "  Yes, 
I  know ;  of  course." 


106  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

Her  inexperience  at  times  betrayed  her,  and 
what  she  had  seen  of  her  own  little  world  was  not 
very  reassuring  as  to  the  trust  to  be  reposed  on 
the  beings  outside  of  it,  but  when  her  sympathies 
were  not  too  much  involved  she  was  intellectually 
decisive  by  nature,  and  she  was  fast  maturing. 
The  man  before  her  was  a  gentleman;  that,  at 
least,  was  plain.  He  could  not  be  a  foe  :  his  em- 
barrassment and  anxiety  were  as  distinct  as  her 
own. 

As  Francis  would  have  phrased  it,  she  pulled 
herself  together,  and  added,  "  It  is  vain  now  to 
conceal  from  you  that  my  cousin,  —  a  distant 
cousin  "  —  "  Why  the  deuce  does  she  say  that  ?  " 
thought  Francis  —  "  has  been  expected  by  us.  I 
have  been  incautious  enough  to  let  you  understand 
that  he  may  be  here  to-night.  I  do  not  say  he 
will  be  ;  no  one  knows.  What  I  see  is  that  I 
have  been  a  fool  and  have  put  him  in  the  power 
of  a  total  stranger.  We  are  at  your  mercy." 
Her  eyes  filled  and  her  cheeks  flushed  as  she  stood 
bravely  facing  him,  quite  unaware  of  the  gentle 
artfulness  of  her  appeal. 

"  On  my  honor  as  a  gentleman,  you  are  safe 
with  me." 

"  Thank  you."  She  spoke  with  frank  accept- 
ance. 

"  And  before  I  go  let  me  say  how  very  sorry  I 
am  to  have  been  in  any  way  a  cause  of  trouble 
to  you.  May  I  take  the  liberty  of  asking  your 
name  ?  "  he  added,  smiling. 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  107 

"  I  am  Miss  Olivia  Wynne." 

"It  has  a  pleasantly  familiar  sound  to  me  at 
least.  It  is  an  old  name  in  and  about  Philadel- 
phia." 

Olivia  had  a  feeling  of  reassurance  as  he  spoke, 
and  yet  more  as  he  added :  "  And  now  let  me 
thank  you  for  the  shelter.  And  perhaps  I  shall 
further  relieve  your  very  natural  suspicions  if  I 
say  that  I  was  on  my  way  to  dine  with  Mr.  George 
Vincent  when  in  the  haste  caused  by  my  ducking 
I  mistook  the  house." 

"  Mr.  Vincent  is  our  next  neighbor,"  said  Olivia. 

"  And  I  am  very  late.  Good-evening,  Miss 
Wynne." 

He  bowed,  and,  backing  a  step  or  two  towards 
the  door,  came  almost  into  contact  with  Mrs. 
Wynne.  Her  appearance  was  a  surprise  to  both 
of  the  young  people.  The  little  old  lady,  pale, 
attenuated,  lavish  of  lace,  in  long  gloves,  stood  a 
moment  in  the  doorway,  which  a  servant  had 
opened  for  her. 

"  A  beautiful  old  dame,"  Francis  thought.  "  I 
beg  pardon,"  he  said,  retreating.  "  I  am,  by  no 
fault  of  my  own,  an  intruder  here.  I  took  refuge 
from  the  storm,  supposing  this  to  be  Mr.  Vincent's. 
Miss  Wynne  will  explain ;  and  perhaps  I  had  best 
leave  my  sad  case  in  her  hands,"  he  went  on,  in 
his  smiling  way,  as  he  began  again  to  make  his 
way  out. 

Whatever  had  been  the  urgency  of  motive 
which  had  brought  the  old  lady  hastily  down- 


108  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

stairs,  the  excitement  died  away  at  once,  and 
crushing  a  paper  she  held  in  her  hand,  she  came 
forward,  and  to  Francis's  amusement,  dropped 
him  an  old-fashioned  courtesy,  which  took  up  a 
good  deal  of  space  and  set  the  young  man  to  bow- 
ing with  equal  formality,  by  virtue  of  that  pleas- 
ant tendency  to  imitativeness  which  forms  of  phys- 
ical politeness  are  apt  to  bring  out. 

"  That  is  easily  forgiven,"  said  the  old  lady. 
"  Are  you  sure  that  the  rain  is  quite  at  an  end  ?  " 

"  Oh,  quite  so,"  said  he. 

"  But  you  must  be  very  wet,"  exclaimed  Olivia. 

Why  exactly  she  said  this,  or,  indeed,  anything, 
would  not  have  been  clear  to  her  had  she  looked 
for  a  reason.  Perhaps  she  felt  the  sunshine  of 
gentle  likings  which  the  young  soldier  carried  with 
him. 

"  Oh,  we  don't  mind  that  in  the  army,"  he 
laughed,  and  then  looked  ruefully  at  the  soaked 
dress-shoes. 

"Ah,  you  are  in  the  service?"  said  Mrs.  Wynne, 
who,  though  in  the  main  satisfied  by  her  first 
glance  at  the  stranger,  felt  it  to  be  well  and  also 
easy  to  learn  something  of  a  visitor  who  might 
bring  danger  with  him.  "  I  did  not  quite  catch 
your  name." 

This  delighted  Olivia,  who  rarely  saw  her  grand- 
mother aroused. 

"I  owe  you  an  apology,"  returned  Francis, 
becoming,  as  he  smilingly  knew,  beautifully  cour- 
teous. "  I  might  readily  be  pardoned  any  forget- 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  109 

fulness.  I  am  Philip  Francis,  a  lieutenant  in  the 
6th  New  Hampshire  Cavalry.  I  am  home  on 
leave,  owing  to  a  wound."  ("  That  covers  the 
ground,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  Shall  I  ever  get 
out?") 

As  he  spoke,  the  old  lady  advanced,  but  with 
such  feebleness  that  Francis  instinctively  stepped 
forward  to  help  her.  "  Thank  you,"  she  said, 
putting  the  finger-ends  of  one  hand  formally  on 
his  arm.  Then  she  sat  down,  and,  looking  up, 
continued,  — 

"You  will  pardon  an  old  woman's  curiosity, 
but  are  you  of  the  Philadelphia  people  of  your 
name  ?  " 

"  They  have  the  honor  to  own  me."  And  the 
merriment  in  his  eyes  found  genial  comradeship 
in  Olivia's  face. 

"You  are  come  of  good  people,"  she  returned, 
in  her  thinnest  and  most  tranquil  voice.  "  And 
now  ring,  Olivia ;  we  must  not  keep  Mr.  Francis 
any  longer." 

He  bowed  low;  the  old  dame,  rising  with  a 
little  effort,  courtesied  ;  Miss  Wynne  said  "  Good 
evening,"  a  touch  of  regret  in  her  voice,  and  he 
left  the  room.  He  would  have  well  liked  to  add, 
"  May  I  come  back  to-morrow  ? "  but  this  was 
clearly  out  of  the  question. 

He  put  on  his  summer  covering,  took  his  hat, 
and  went  out  into  Fifth  Avenue  and  up  the  ad- 
joining steps.  Then  the  fun  of  the  thing  over- 
came him,  and  he  laughed  aloud,  to  the  astonish- 


110  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

ment  of  a  passer-by.  "Well,"  he  said,  "I  have 
kept  Vincent  waiting,  but  I  have  had  an  adven- 
ture ;  and  what  an  adventure !  Where,  I  wonder, 
is  that  handsome  rebel?  What  a  pity  he  did  not 
turn  up  !  —  nothing  on  the  stage  could  have  beaten 
that !  And  by  George  what  a  noble-looking  girl !  " 
He  wondered  what  Blake  would  say  to  it,  and 
why  his  friend  had  been  so  annoyed  at  his  help- 
ing Darnell ;  and  thus  reflecting,  and  still  smiling 
at  his  remembrance  of  the  part  he  had  just  played, 
he  went  in  by  the  door  which  a  servant  threw 
open  before  him.  Meanwhile,  the  old  lady  had 
turned  to  her  grandchild,  remarking,  as  she  heard 
the  hall  door  close,  — 

"  Octopia  has  sent  me  two  notes  within  the 
last  ten  minutes,  my  dear;  she  is  very  fond  of 
notes.  She  said  in  them  that  Judith  had  seen  a 
gentleman  come  in,  and  that  it  was  not  Richard 
Darnell,  and  that  she  was  too  ill  to  go  down,  and 
I  must,  —  must)  child !  The  woman  has  no  man- 
ners ;  no  Darnell  ever  had." 

The  impertinence  stirred  her  more  than  many 
wrongs  had  done,  and  her  granddaughter  was 
surprised  at  her  anger.  Olivia  did  not  see  fit  at 
this  time  to  mention  her  own  blunder. 

"  Perhaps,  grandmamma,  she  did  not  mean  it. 
She  is  ill,  and  uneasy  about  her  brother." 

"  Then  let  her  see  to  him  herself !  Ill  ?  —  non- 
sense! She  is  well  enough  when  she  pleases  to 
do  anything.  And  really,  child,  to  bring  me 
down-stairs  in  haste  to  see  a  stupid  lad  who  has 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  Ill 

not  sense  enough  to  get  into  the  right  house!  A 
nice  coil  we  are  in  now !  as  if  we  had  any  busi- 
ness with  these  rebel  plots !  As  for  her,  she  likes 
it ;  she  is  a  born  plotter.  They  are  all  plotters. 
They  were  in  that  business  of  Conway's  against 
/  Washington.  They  were  in  Burr's  conspiracy. 
They  were  always  false  to  their  country,  and  they 
cannot  be  true  to  any  one.  And  my  life  is  one 
long  trouble ;  I  have  no  peace  or  rest,  —  and  shall 
have  none  till  I  am  dead.  Send  for  Susan.  I 
must  get  to  bed.  Why  does  that  man  Darnell 
come  at  all?  Ring!  ring!  do  as  I  tell  you,  at 
once!  No  one  obeys  me." 

Olivia  did  as  she  was  told;  and  then  Mrs. 
Wynne  added, — 

"  You  must  talk  to  Octopia  about  all  this.  You 
can  explain  it.  I  do  not  propose  to  be  questioned 
as  to  a  matter  of  such  small  moment.  Any  one 
could  see  the  man  was  a  gentleman.  Now  go 
and  quiet  Octopia,  or  we  shall  have  hysterics,  and 
^ I  shall  be  kept  awake.  There  is  no  peace  in  this 
house.  I  have  not  knit  two  rows  to-day." 

Olivia  went  reluctantly  up-stairs,  thinking  by 
turns  of  the  manly,  smiling  face  of  the  soldier  and 
of  what  she  should  say  to  her  cousin.  The  inter- 
view was  not  pleasant,  and,  worn  out  by  the  call 
upon  her  sympathies  and  the  demand  for  more 
affection  than  she  felt,  the  tired  girl  went  to  her 
room. 

Her  head  ached,  and  with  the  consciousness  of 
constant  fatigue,  the  outcome  of  a  life  of  strain 


112  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

and  repression,  began  to  come  its  certain  result, 
irritability. 

Character  is  more  subject  in  women  than  in 
men  to  changes  physiologically  produced,  and 
\/  Olivia  was  feeling  the  effect  of  bodily  influences 
which  alarmed  her  as  little  as  they  usually  do  the 
young.  Her  power  of  self-government  was  fast 
deserting  her,  and  her  reason  was  rapidly  going 
over  to  the  party  of  mutiny.  Why  should  that 
tired  old  woman  be  so  ceaselessly  disturbed  ?  She 
had  a  right  to  a  placid  life,  to  the  inward  and 
outward  calm  which  she  loved.  That  was  an 
awful  resurrection  of  buried  passions  Olive  had 
seen.  She  began  to  hate  Octopia  at  times,  in 
little  fractions  of  hatred. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

"  The  man  who  has  not  known  sick  women  has  not  known  women.*1* 

OLIVIA  went  into  her  cousin's  room  next  morn- 
ing feeling  unusually  well.  As  was  common  the 
day  after  one  of  these  irritating  scenes,  Octopia 
made  her  a  sweet  apology  for  the  annoyance  she 
had  shown  concerning  the  girl's  interview  with 
Francis,  as  to  which  the  sick  woman  had  extracted 
the  whole  truth.  Olivia  often  had  the  singular 
feeling  of  self-reproach  which  the  healthy  and  vig- 
orous sometimes  experience  in  the  presence  of  the 
sick  and  wasted ;  and,  besides,  she  had  taken  her- 
self to  task  for  not  seeing  that  Octopia's  anxiety 
gave  her  some  just  cause  to  feel  that  Olive  had 
been  imprudent  and  thoughtless.  She  sat  down 
to  read,  but,  being  rather  preoccupied,  read  too 
loudly  at  times,  and  at  other  times  could  not  be 
heard,  or,  worse  still,  failed  to  use  her  mental  filter 
to  keep  back  unpleasing  portions  of  the  war  news. 

At  last,  Octopia,  as  she  lay  on  her  lounge,  half 
lifted  a  long  hand  in  the  way  of  protest.  Speak- 
ing up  at  the  ceiling,  she  said,  — 

"  If  you  cannot  omit  abuse  of  the  South,  dear 
love,  I  would  rather  you  did  not  go  on." 

"  I  have  read  two  hours.  I  am  tired,"  returned 
Olivia,  "  and  that  makes  it  difficult  to  be  exact." 


114  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"  Yes,  dear,  I  know.  You  are  very  good  to  me. 
You  know,  dear,  that  I  would  read  it  myself,  if  I 
could  do  so  without  seeing  all  those  cruel  com- 
ments. The  lies  are  so  bad,  and  I  can  trust  you 
to  sift  them.  I  have  the  sure  consciousness  that 
the  South  —  my  South  —  will  win." 

Olivia  restrained  herself  in  silence. 

"  Are  you  very  tired  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  We  won't  read  any  more  ; "  and  then,  as  Olivia 
rose,  "  but  you  '11  sit  by  me  awhile  ?  I  hate  to  be 
alone.  That  won't  tire  you.  You  know,  love,  I 
always  try  to  save  you.  Just  a  little  while." 

Olivia  sat  down  with  a  sigh.  These  hours  of 
patient  waiting  in  the  half  light  with  Octopia's 
long  fingers  twined  in  hers  were  perhaps  the 
hardest  of  her  trials.  A  great  love  would  have 
made  them  endurable,  but  scarcely  more  whole- 
some. The  old  black  servant  had  said,  "  Missus 
^  do  take  it  out  of  you,"  thus  vaguely  expressing 
the  mysterious  hurtf  ulness  of  the  relation. 

At  last  the  girl  rose,  feeling  that  she  could  bear 
it  no  longer.  For  an  hour  she  had  been  dreamily 
thinking  of  the  sea,  of  flowers,  of  the  joy  of  out- 
door life,  while  Octopia  patted  her  hands  softly. 
"  I  must  go,"  she  said. 

Octopia  reluctantly  set  her  free.  She  never 
meant  to  be  irritable,  and  just  at  present  she  was 
unusually  good-humored,  and  was,  for  reasons 
known  to  herself  alone,  trying  to  be  very  pleasant 
to  the  young  girl.  It  was  not  easy ;  to  divorce  a 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  115 

habit  abruptly  is  not  always  possible.  Nor  was 
she  fully  able  to  realize  the  extent  of  her  own  ra- 
pacity of  sacrifice ;  the  lonely  life  of  sickness  had 
-made  self  so  near  that  its  breath  blurred  the  mir- 
ror of  conscience. 

Such  a  character  is  difficult  for  the  young  and 
the  healthy  to  comprehend. 

As  Olivia  turned  to  leave,  the  old  black  woman 
entered.  "  Massa  Richard 's  down-stairs,"  she 
said,  —  "  de  real  massa  Dick." 

"  My  brother !  "  exclaimed  Octopia,  with  un- 
usual energy.  "  Open  the  window,  Judith.  Give 
me  my  lace  gown.  Go  down-stairs,  Olive,  and  see 
him.  You  can  bring  him  up  in  five  minutes. 
Ah !  at  last !  at  last !  my  dear  old  Dick  !  Do  you 
know,  Olive,  it  is  two  years  since  we  met.  Kiss 
me,  dear ;  I  am  so  glad  that  I  want  every  one  to 
be  glad  with  me.  How  does  he  look,  Judith  ?  " 

"  Dar  ain't  much  change  on  him.  He  ain't 
worsened  none,  and  he  ain't  bettered  none,  as  I 
can  see." 

"  Bettered  !  What  do  you  mean  ?  How  could 
he  be  better  ?  Now  go,  Olive,  and  be  careful, 
this  time  ;  you  will  be  very  careful,  dear,  won't 
you?  " 

Promising  to  be  prudent,  the  girl  went  slowly 
down  to  meet  him.  Two  new  acquaintances  in 
a  week  represented  to  her  a  fortune  in  the  way 
of  social  intercourse.  A  little  on  her  guard,  and 
more  than  a  little  curious,  she  entered  the  draw- 
ing-room. 


116  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

We  see  well  enough,  as  lives  go  on,  how  more 
or  less  inborn  character  and  the  ways  in  which 
men  improve  or  distort  it  modify  the  features  and 
write  authoritative  comments  on  a  face.  Happily, 
they  who  can  read  these  lines  aright  are  few  in 
number.  Climate,  sicknesses,  and  the  tricks  of 
mere  time  sadly  confuse  these  changeful  hiero- 
glyphics, so  that  for  the  general  reader  some 
men's  faces  lie  as  certainly  as  do  their  grave-stones 
in  after  years.  But  how  far  the  face  which  nature 
has  given  may  in  turn  influence  character  and  af- 
fect gravely  our  actions  is  not  so  well  realized  by 
the  most  critical  charity. 

The  strange  beauty  of  the  boy  Darnell  had 
been  a  curse  to  him.  There  are  guards  about  a 
girl's  attractiveness  which  a  lad  lacks.  Some  hon- 
est ancestor  had  given  the  young  Virginian  large, 
soft,  brown  eyes,  ingenuous  in  expression,  but  had 
failed  to  endow  him  with  the  combination  of 
moral  qualities  which,  as  time  went  on,  should 
have  given  reality  to  what  in  childhood  was  but 
picture.  The  crown  of  curls  around  the  head,  the 
'lips  bold  and  clearly  modeled  in  lines  which  ap- 
proached those  of  feminine  type,  the  masterful 
vigor  of  look  and  carriage,  had  won  from  a  foolish 
mother  that  fatal  form  of  worship  which  as  years 
go  on  is  apt  to  make  an  iconoclast  of  the  idol's  self. 

Death  saved  her  from  seeing  this,  and  a  ner- 
vous, sensitive,  adoring  sister  took  up  the  evil 
task  of  despoiling  a  life  by  flattery  and  indulgence 
of  its  best  chances.  The  firmest  rule  would  have 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  117 

found  him  difficult  to  save  ;  the  weakest  treated 
him  as  a  toy,  and  insured  his  ruin.  What  was 
good  in  him  failed  to  crystallize  in  definite  habits 
of  good.  He  grew  up  amidst  slaves  and  women, 
lawless  and  fearless,  —  a  character  in  a  state  of  so- 
lution. Good  women  and  thoughtful  men  found  in 
their  relations  to  the  slave  a  self-education  which 
helped  to  evolve  many  noble  characteristics  by 
reason  of  the  awful  responsibilities  which  the  po- 
sition of  master  created.  To  a  man  like  Darnell 
plantation-life  was  fatal. 

As  Olivia  first  saw  him,  he  was  leaning  against 
the  mantel,  apparently  busy  with  his  own  reflec- 
tions. Turning,  he  said,  — 

"  My  cousin,  Olivia  Wynne.  No  need  to  pre- 
sent myself.  Allow  ine  to  close  the  door." 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Darnell,"  she  said. 

"  Can  I  not  be  Cousin  Richard,  after  our  good 
Virginia  fashion  ?  and  let  us  consider  that  I  am 
/just  now  Richard  Wynne.  You  see  I  have  stolen 
your  name." 

"  Pray  pit  down.  Octopia  will  be  ready  to  see 
you  in  a  few  minutes." 

His  personal  beauty  of  face  and  grace  of  car- 
riage, something  daring  in  his  large  eyes,  which 
were  restless  and  watchful,  together  with  his  great 
likeness  to  Octopia,  mysteriouly  embarrassed  his 
cousin. 

"  We  had  quite  given  up  all  hope,"  she  said,  — 
"  all  idea  of  seeing  you.  Octopia  has  been  so 
very  anxious ;  and  the  news  of  your  escape  has 
been  an  immense  relief  to  her." 


118  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"  Yes,  I  got  out  of  that  pen.  I  was  taken  at 
Spottsylvania.  Like  a  fool,  I  volunteered  while 
at  headquarters  on  business,  and  so  got  hit  and 
picked  up  on  the  field.  I "  —  He  was  about  to 
say  how  he  had  been  taken ;  but  he  was  a  man 
who  disliked  obligations  and  shrank  from  need- 
lessly acknowledging  them.  "I — in  fact,  I  always 
liked  a  fight,  from  the  time  I  was  a  boy.  I  never 
saw  a  cock-fight  that  I  did  not  want  to  be  a  good 
gamester  and  in  the  pit." 

"  I  suppose  it  is  natural  for  a  man  to  want  to 
strike  for  his  own  cause,"  she  said,  reflectively, 
and  then,  smiling,  but  with  a  slightly  anxious 
look,  "you  know  that  we  are  all  for  the  North 
here,  except,  of  course,  Octopia  ?  " 

"  Oh,  naturally,"  he  said.  "  It  does  n't  matter 
much,  though,  either  way." 

"  I  think  it  does." 

"  Well,  then  I  will  think  so  too." 

She  was  silent. 

"  How  worried  poor  Octy  must  have  been  these 
last  months  !  I  am  afraid  that  she  must  have 
been  a  grave  trial  to  you  all." 

"  Yes,  she  has  been  in  sad  distress,  especially  of 
late.  You  know  how  nervous  and  excitable  she 
is,  and  at  times  so  —  so  "  —  and  she  paused. 

"  I  see,"  he  broke  in  laughing.  "  Poor  Octy ! 
it  is  the  same  old  thing,  I  reckon.  I  can  never 
thank  you  and  Cousin  Anne  enough  for  what  you 
have  done  for  her." 

"It  was  not  much,"  said  Olivia.  "Will  you 
go  up  and  see  her  ?  This  way,  please." 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  119 

"  You  will  like  to  be  alone,"  said  the  girl,  at 
the  door  of  her  cousin's  room,  as  she  fell  back, 
noting  with  fresh  interest  the  dissemblance  within 
the  resemblance  between  the  brother  and  sister. 
A  flush  of  joyous  greeting  was  on  Octopia's  face 
and  in  her  eyes,  which  shone  brightly.  He  was 
bronzed  as  well  as  dark  of  tint,  and  had  the  same 
heavy  eyelids,  and  the  same  slight  retreat  of  the 
lower  half  of  the  face  to  a  small  but  positive 
chin.  The  mouth  was  absolutely  hidden  in  a 
jungle  of  mustache ;  perhaps  nowadays  it  was  as 
well. 

Octopia  had  him  in  her  arms  in  a  moment. 
She  loved  this  man  beyond  all  other  things  on 
earth ;  to  her  there  was  nothing  like  him.  Of 
old  she  had  fatigued  him  by  a  glutinous  affection 
which  was  readily  self-sacrificial  and  not  without 
the  element  of  jealousy,  —  that  avarice  of  the 
heart. 

When  they  were  alone,  he  asked  if  any  one  was 
in  the  front  room. 

'"  Only  Judith,"  she  said,  —  which  was  true,  for 
the  old  servant  was  eagerly  listening  near  the 
door. 

"  We  need  not  mind  her,"  he  said,  carelessly. 

Then  Octopia  talked  long  to  him  about  their 
home  and  friends,  and  of  the  state  of  the  Con- 
federacy, which  both  of  them  still  looked  upon 
as  secure  of  final  triumph.  At  last  she  began  to 
speak  of  himself  and  of  his  plans,  as  to  which  she 
was  very  anxious. 


120  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

He  explained  that  when  he  first  wrote  of  his 
intention  to  come  to  the  North  he  had  been  com- 
missioned by  the  Confederacy  to  go  to  England 
on  an  errand  connected  with  the  department  in 
which  he  served.  Then  the  purpose  had  been 
abandoned  ;  and  now,  having  been  captured,  it 
was  his  intention  to  remain  in  New  York  for  a 
time,  and  to  return  to  the  South  as  soon  as  a  good 
opportunity  offered  to  get  through  the  lines,  —  a 
matter  which  was  becoming  daily  more  difficult. 

Octopia  questioned  him  closely  and  with  her 
usual  shrewdness.  He  had,  in  fact,  been  origi- 
nally charged  with  an  errand  to  England,  and 
desired  while  on  his  way  to  use  the  two  thousand 
dollars  he  had  lately  acquired  to  buy  quinine  for 
his  own  profit,  hoping  to  be  able  to  smuggle  it 
into  the  lines  of  the  fast-shrinking  Confederacy, 
where  its  value  had  become  enormous.  He  had 
been  captured  not  very  unwillingly,  but  was  now 
without  money  to  carry  on  his  schemes,  having 
left  in  Richmond  all  he  possessed.  He  had  been 
from  time  to  time  aided  by  Octopia  with  money 
which  reached  him  through  England,  and  he  was 
well  aware  that  she  had  laid  by  some  little  means 
which  had  been  given  her  by  Mrs.  Wynne  when 
that  lady's  gratitude  was  at  full  tide.  He  knew 
also  that  what  she  had  would  be  at  his  disposal ; 
and  already  he  began  to  think  that  with  a  little 
money  he  could  find  some  way  of  bettering  himself 
until  he  could  succeed  in  reclaiming  the  funds  he 
had  left  in  Virginia.  As  to  his  duties  at  home, 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  121 

they  troubled  him  little,  as  his  capture  would  ex- 
plain his  continued  absence. 

Already  his  head  was  full  of  schemes.  The 
wild  fluctuation  of  gold  and  stocks  which  he  had 
read  of  in  the  papers  awakened  and  excited  his 
gambling  propensities.  That  his  plans  might  find 
An  his  sister  a  severe  critic  he  did  not  fear.  Once 
already  he  had  ruined  his  sister's  fortunes,  and  he 
meant  now  again  to  use  her  savings. 

Having  been  brought  up  among  people  who 
professed  certain  distinct  views  as  to  delicate 
shades  of  what  was  right  and  wrong  among  gen- 
tlemen, he  was  by  mere  habit  instinctively  sensi- 
tive as  to  the  opinions  of  others.  It  was  the  one 
^religion  left  him.  He  resolved  now  to  be  careful. 

As  to  Octopia,  she  would  have  liked  to  make 
clear  to  him  that  she  was  not  a  guest  on  sufferance 
in  her  cousin's  house.  She  vaguely  realized  at 
times  that  she  had  almost  used  threadbare  Mrs. 
Wynne's  sense  of  gratitude,  and  in  what  she  said 
she  respected  her  fixed  conception  of  her  brother's 
sense  of  honor,  little  knowing  to  what  deeps  of 
degradation  he  had  fallen  since  she  had  last  seen 
him.  She  too  resolved  to  be  careful. 

"  I  think,  Octy,  I  shall  be  kept  in  New  York 
for  some  time,"  he  said.  "  You  won't  be  sorry, 
I  know ;  and  I  don't  think  the  risk  very  great. 
I  shall  want  a  little  money  ;  I  have  some  in  Vir- 
ginia, but  I  can't  get  it  yet,  and  I  am  indisposed 
to  risk  crossing  the  lines  just  now.  It  will  be 
easier  after  Grant  is  back  across  the  Rapidan." 


122  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"  I  have  enough  for  us  both,  Dick,"  she  said, 
joyously,  "  unless  "  —  and  she  laughed  —  "  you  are 
as  great  a  spendthrift  as  you  used  to  be." 

"  Oh,  I  'm  reformed,  Octy." 

"  I  hope  so.  You  are  at  the  Brevoort,  you  said. 
It  is  very  expensive,  and,  I  should  think,  danger- 
ous. Suppose  I  ask  Mr.  Pennell  where  you  had 
best  live  ?  He  will  do  anything  for  me." 

"  What  a  treasure,  Octy  !  Is  he  as  sentimental 
as  ever  ?  Your  descriptions  of  him  were  very 
amusing."  And  he  laughed. 

"  Come,  don't  laugh  at  him,  Dick.  I  am  afraid 
I  led  you  into  that;  but  he  is  a  little  comical, 
what  with  his  stoop,  and  his  shyness,  and  his 
clocks,  and  his  queer  fancy  for  reforming  young 
reprobates." 

"  Perhaps  he  would  take  me  in  hand." 

"  I  will  ask  him,"  said  she  ;  and  they  laughed. 

"  By  the  way,  what  a  beauty  that  girl  is,  Octy  !  " 

"  Ah,  you  think  so  ?  "  she  returned,  smiling  af- 
/  fectionately.  "  Her  grandmother  is  very  old,  and 
she  has,  my  dear  Dick,  a  lot  of  money." 

"  A  lot !  "  he  said.  "  How  much  is  a  lot  ?  You 
were  always  rather  inaccurate  in  your  statements." 

"  Was  I  ?  "  she  said,  with  entire  good  humor, 
rather  liking  criticism  from  her  brother.  "  She 
may  have  two  or  three  hundred  thousand ;  not 
less,  certainly.  It  is  rather  amusing,  but  Olive, 
who  is  the  merest  child,  has  not  the  faintest  notion 
that  she  is  an  heiress.  She  would  make  you  a 
good  wife,  Dick,  she  is  so  perfectly  manageable ; 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  123 

and  the  fact  is,  she  meets  no  one  —  really  no  one 
—  but  ourselves." 

"  I  see,"  he  returned,  thoughtfully.  "  Do  you 
truly  think  it  possible  ?  " 

"  It  is  more  than  possible.  I  have  an  influence 
here  which  is  greater  than  you  could  suppose." 

"  That 's  all  very  well,  Octy ;  but  what  is  an 
influence  ?  " 

"  Power,"  she  said,  proudly,  —  "  power,  if  you 
like  that  better,  and  the  will  to  use  it  for  you." 

"  But  now-a-days  we  can't  make  girls  marry 
whom  we  please.  What  power  have  you  ?  " 

She  colored,  having  said  more  than  she  meant 
to  say.  "  No  matter  what,"  she  replied.  How 
could  she  confess  to  her  brother,  a  man  who  had 
always  resented  any  imputation  on  his  honor, 
what  was  the  hold  she  had  on  the  fears  of  two 
^J  helpless  women?  Would  he  continue  to  love  her 
as  she  believed  he  did  ?  Society  is  kept  in  exist- 
ence by  a  system  of  moral  credits.  "  They  are 
under  obligations  to  me.  I  cannot  tell  you  any- 
thing more." 

Had  she  a  faint  distrust  of  the  use  he  might 
make  of  the  knowledge  he  sought  ?  With  all  her 
affection  for  him  there  was  a  margin  of  distrust. 

"  It  does  n't  matter,"  he  returned,  carelessly. 
"  You  may  think  better  of  it ;  and  as  for  me,  I 
have  time  on  my  hands,  and  what  you  say  seems 
plausible  enough.  Yet  if  I  knew  what  you 
meant "  — 

"  It  is  well  that  you  should  not ;  and  you  had 


124  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

better  leave  me  to  do  as  I  think  best.  You  would 
only  spoil  all." 

Concerning  Octopia's  secret  he  smiled  a  little  ; 
she  had  always  been  rather  fond  of  mystery.  As 
to  Olivia  herself  that  was  a  matter  for  reflection. 

"  You  don't  know  the  old  lady,  and  I  do,"  Oo- 
topia  added. 

"  Oh,  I  could  manage  her." 

"No,  you  could  not.  Wait  till  you  see  her. 
And  now  never  urge  me  about  this  again.  Here 
is  fifty  dollars  ;  that  ought  to  answer  for  the  pres- 
ent." 

"  All  right,"  he  said,  only  half  pleased.  "  And 
now  for  Cousin  Olivia." 

The  pantomime  in  the  front  chamber  during 
this  talk  was  interesting  enough.  The  old  black 
woman  stood  by  the  door,  the  darkness  of  her 
face  making  it  inexpressive,  —  a  mere  patient 
figure  of  waiting  weariness.  She  had  a  feminine 
/ admiration  for  Massa  Dick;  he  had  never  been 
brutal  to  her  —  indeed  he  was  not  that,  —  and  she 
had  once  had  a  slave's  pride  in  his  reckless  cour- 
age. As  to  Octopia  it  was  otherwise. 

Why  she  listened  she  could  hardly  have  said, 
except  that  the  furtive  cunning  of  slavery  had 
iven  with  the  idea  of  possession  of  another's 
t  a  sense  of  power.  Waning  intelligence  and 
the  timidity  of  a  life  of  serfdom  made  it  as  use- 
less to  her  as  great  wealth  would  have  been.  She 
began,  however,  to  feel  vaguely,  as  she  listened, 
that  there  was  in  what  she  heard  some  peril  for 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  125 

Olivia,  —  the  one  little  affection  she  had  acquired 
amidst  her  life  of  monotonous  service  in  Octopia's 
sick-room.  Once  while  they  talked  she  heard  her 
own  name,  and  instantly  walked  softly  across  the 
room  and  then  back  more  heavily,  and  entered 
Octopia's  chamber. 

"  Was  you  a-callin'  ?  "  she  said.  "  I  did  n't  hear. 
I  was  a-sittin'  by  the  window.  How  do,  Massa 
Dick?" 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  aunty,"  said  Darnell.  "  You 
can  go  back,  and  shut  the  door." 

She  did  as  he  bade  her,  a  weak  smile  crossing 
her  face.  Cunning  is  the  kindly  little  devil  of 
the  feeble  in  mind,  and,  if  there  be  sex  among 
the  smaller  fiends,  is  of  the  female  kind.  She 
went  to  the  window  and  sat  down,  thinking  dis- 
connectedly as  she  heard  Darnell  go  away. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"  Our  fate  hath  its  own  lords, 
Which  if  we  follow  truly  there  can  com* 
No  harm  unto  us.'' 

MEANWHILE,  Philip  Francis  went  back  to 
Philadelphia.  He  carried  with  him  a  mild  sense 
of  the  romance  of  his  adventure  and  some  agree- 
able remembrance  of  the  woman  he  had  seen. 
Perhaps  his  feeling  of  the  absurdity  of  the  affair 
was  even  more  present  to  his  mind,  since  the 
laughable  aspects  of  events  were  apt  to  dominate 
him.  Had  Olivia  been  more  of  an  ingenue,  he 
would  possibly  have  been  captivated  by  her  grace 
and  the  gentle  old-fashioned  manners  she  had  un- 
consciously acquired  from  her  grandmother;  but 
the  childlike  embarrassment  of  the  tall  girl  struck 
him  as  more  ludicrous  than  attractive.  There  is 
somewhere  a  tender  bribe  for  every  man,  and 
chance  arranges  the  hour  of  temptation;  it  had 
not  yet  come  for  Philip  Francis. 

At  home  he  kept  his  own  counsel  about  his 
interview,  and  late  in  January  returned  to  the 
army,  then  lying  in  front  of  Petersburg. 

His  brigade  had  long  since  been  detached  from 
the  duties  of  the  provost-marshal  general's  head- 
quarters, and  transferred  to  the  cavalry  corps, 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  127 

which  was  lying  "  retired "  on  the  left  of  the 
army.  He  sought  an  early  chance  to  visit  Blake, 
and,  after  a  long  ride  to  the  immediate  front,  he 
found  his  friend,  now  become  a  major  in  the  in- 
fantry regiment  he  had  joined  as  a  private. 

The  tent,  with  its  flooring  and  camp-furniture, 
was  comfortable  enough  ;  and,  seated  on  two  rough 
camp-stools,  the  friends  chatted  gayly  of  home 
and  the  war,  while  the  shells  rose  in  air,  and 
gigantic  rings  of  dun  smoke,  slowly  twisting  and 
breaking,  hung  over  the  mortar-batteries.  Every 
moment  the  boom  of  siege-guns  was  heard,  and 
now  and  then  a  musket-shot  rang  out,  while 
around  the  tents  the  jingle  and  countless  noises 
of  an  army  in  winter-quarters  filled  the  air. 

"  Glad  to  get  back?  "  said  Blake.  "  How  well 
you  look !  Madeira  and  terrapin,  I  suppose." 

"  No.  I  have  been  too  much  in  the  cheerful 
hands  of  the  doctors.  You  seem,  pretty  comfort- 
able here  yourself.  It  begins  to  look,  Roland,  as 
if  this  heavy  joke  called  war  would  soon  be  over. 
I  should  like  to  be  about  when  Mr.  Lee  says  to 
Mr.  Davis,  'And  what  shall  we  do  now,  Mr. 
Ringmaster  ? ' " 

"  I  have  found  it  a  pretty  expensive  circus,"  re- 
turned his  friend.  "  Seriously,  I  shall  be  enchanted 
to  get  back  to  a  rational  existence;  it  is  so  su- 
premely ridiculous  to  be  eternally  at  another  man's 
beck  and  call." 

"And,  after  all,  what  is  the  good  of  it?  We 
shall  only  slip  again  under  the  rule  of  ward  poli- 
tics." 


128  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

Blake  smiled.  "  Then  what  are  you  doing 
here?  If  you  don't  believe  in  the  war,  you  are 
criminal.  It  is  either  wickedness  or  first-class 
righteousness,  —  God's  war  for  you,  or  a  game  of 
hell.  I  am  thankful  to  see  any  duty  on  earth  as 
clearly  as  I  saw  this  one." 

"  Confound  it,  Roland,  how  absolute  you  are ! 
You  know  well  enough  that  I  would  not  be  here 
unless  I  believed  in  it.  Wait  till  you  get  hit  so 
that  you  are  no  better  than  a  colander.  I  have 
seen  more  than  one  fellow  leak  a  little  earnestness 
out  of  a  bullet-hole ;  and  as  for  me,  I  've  been 
regularly  on  tap." 

"It 's  the  talk  I  object  to,  Phil.  Half  the  men 
you  meet  believe  you.  I  can't  see  what  pleasure 
you  can  get  out  of  an  affectation  of  cynicism. 
There  is  no  use  lecturing  a  man  like  you.  No 
one  does  lecture  you  but  me,  and  pretty  soon  you 
will  lose  my  charming  advice.  School  doesn't 
keep  after  twenty-five.  You  only  make  people 
laugh  at  what  they  should  not  laugh  at." 

"All  right.  Let's  shut  up  the  Sunday-school. 
You  got  a  good  bit  of  malarious  liver  into  that 
preachment.  How  are  the  chills  ?  " 

"  Punctual,  rather,"  he  said,  laughing.  "  The 
general's  orderly  was  growling  yesterday  over  his 
own  share  of  them  when  I  went  to  the  hospital 
for  quinine ;  the  old  Irishman  has  been  in  the 
army  for  thirty  years,  you  know.  Upton  asked 
him  if  his  chills  were  regular.  '  Dade  and  they  're 
intirely  volunteer,'  he  said,  with  delicious  scorn." 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  129 

"What  a  lovely  story!  And,  by  the  way, 
Roland,  I  have  a  queer  tale  to  tell  you.  I  thought 
my  adventures  were  over  when  I  left  camp,  but 
this  beats  the  picket-line  for  romance." 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?  Do  you  swear  or  affirm  ? 
I  never  half  believe  you." 

"  Oh,  it 's  true  this  time." 

Then  Francis  related  at  length  his  visit  to  the 
Wynnes',  and  made  himself  amusing  enough  until 
he  began  to  tell  that  portion  of  his  story  which 
dealt  with  Darnell.  At  this  Blake  became  grave. 
The  clever  picture  Francis  drew  of  the  girl's  child- 
like embarrassment  and  her  womanly  feeling  and 
pretty  old-fashioned  manner  struck  Blake  as  in- 
teresting ;  and  he  was  hardly  less  attracted  by  the 
vivid  sketch  of  the  ancient  gentlewoman  whom 
not  even  his  friend's  cynical  comments  could  make 
ridiculous  to  Roland.  He  was  familiar  with  the 
type,  and  the  memories  it  aroused  were  pleasant 
and  gracious.  As  Francis  talked,  the  idea  of  a 
villain  so  unscrupulous  as  Darnell  at  large  and  in 
such  company  struck  him  as  horrible. 

At  last  he  said,  moodily,  "  And  what  did  you  — 
what  shall  you  do  about  it  ?  "  He  forgot  that  to 
Francis,  Darnell  was  only  a  very  gallant  soldier. 

"  Do !  What  could  I  do  ?  I  don't  quite  see 
what  you  mean." 

"  No :  you  are  right.  I  forgot.  There  is  some- 
thing in  all  this  which  I  cannot  talk  about,  —  of 
which,  in  fact,  as  I  said  before,  I  am  not  at  liberty 
to  speak  freely." 


130  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

He  was  perplexed  at  the  position  in  which  he 
found  himself.  To  tell  Francis  what  Darnell 
really  was  involved  the  breaking  of  his  word  and 
the  betrayal  of  an  official  duty.  How  far  Dar- 
nell's treachery  to  himself  ought  to  modify  his  own 
obligation  to  be  silent  he  could  not  settle  to  his 
satisfaction,  and  to  have  saved  the  life  of  the  man 
who  had  made  a  cowardly  attempt  on  his  own 
seemed  oddly  to  complicate  the  ethical  situation. 

Up  to  this  time  it  had  been  easy  enough  to  put 
the  thing  away  out  of  his  life,  but  now  he  began 
to  be  further  perplexed  by  hearing  that  Darnell 
was  in  the  North,  a  free  man,  and  apparently  in 
relation  with  those  to  whom  he  might  be  danger- 
ous. 

His  friend  had  been  intently  watching  him, 
though  seemingly  much  occupied  with  a  blocked- 
up  pipe,  during  the  few  moments  of  silence  which 
followed  his  last  words.  The  privilege  of  holding 
one's  tongue  is  not  the  least  valuable  gift  of  friend- 
ship to  life. 

At  last  Francis  spoke:  "As  the  snail  said  to 
the  grasshopper,  I  don't  quite  follow  you  ;  but "  — 

"Would  you  kindly  explain  yourself?"  cried 
Blake,  much  amused. 

"Explain!  I  never  wish  to  be  asked  to  ex- 
plain. As  you  observed  to  me  in  your  last  letter, 
there  is  nothing  so  clear  as  the  unexplained,  be- 
cause then  all  solutions  are  open  to  us." 

"  I  said  nothing  of  the  sort,"  returned  Blake. 

"  Well,  it  does  n't  matter.     It  describes  my  own 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  131 

state  of  mind  as  concerns  this  Darnell  business. 
Perhaps  I  put  it  rather  too  practically.  We  will 
call  it  conversational  whittling,  if  you  like." 

"Very  good.  I  like  that.  It's  better  than 
usual,"  said  Blake,  throwing  himself  on  the  floor 
of  the  tent  and  lighting  his  meerschaum.  "  Go 
ahead,  Gamaliel :  let 's  have  more  of  the  shavings 
of  wisdom." 

"  Oh,  Roland,  what  is  really  on  my  mind  is  this. 
It  is  plain  to  me  that  something  in  connection 
with  this  man  Darnell  is  troubling  you.  What  it 
is  I  do  not  care  to  know,  unless  for  me  to  know 
it  will  help  you.  If  without  that  I  can  be  of  any 
kind  of  use  in  the  matter,  whether  with  purse  or 
hand  or  advice,  I  am  at  your  service,  and  this  once 
for  all." 

Blake  looked  up,  touched  both  by  the  offer  and 
by  a  certain  affectionateness  in  the  manner  of 
making  it. 

"  There  is  or.e  thing,"  he  said.  "  To-morrow  is 
my  detail  for  the  picket  reserve.  If  I  get  badly 
hit,  or  killed,  as  may  chance  to  any  of  us,  you  will 
find  in  my  valise  a  letter  to  you  which  will  explain 
what  I  may  have  to  say.  I  mean  to  write  such  a 
letter.  If  I  live,  there  will  be  no  need  of  it." 

Then  he  added,  abruptly,  "  Do  you  think  one 
has  duties  to  people  one  never  saw  ?  " 

Francis  could  not  be  serious  very  long.  He 
laughed : 

"  Most  obviously  it  is  my  duty  to  kill  rebels  I 
never  saw." 


132  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"  Hang  it,  Phil,  you  are  insufferable ! " 
"  I  find  myself  so  very  often,"  he  returned,  ris- 
ing and  buckling  on  his  sabre-belt.  "The  folks 
at  home  write  me  they  have  sent  you  a  box  of 
small  luxuries ;  you  '11  get  it  in  a  day  or  two. 
And  now  I  must  go." 

Blake  thanked  him,  and  they  said  "  good-by  " 
as  the  cavalry -man  swung  himself  into  the  saddle 
and  rode  away,  humming  gayly  a  doggerel  verse 
set  to  the  "  stable  call,"  while  the  bugle  was  ring- 
ing out  the  "  retreat." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

"  The  purple  violet  bring,  that  blows 
In  May  time,  and  to  bind  my  brows 
Snow-born  arbutus  ;  sprinkle  my  house 
With  the  sacred  waters  of  content, 
And  joy  shall  blossom  like  the  rose, 
In  every  heart  that 's  innocent." 

MEANWHILE,  the  little  household  in  New  York 
was  feeling  in  various  ways  the  influence  of  the 
new  visitor.  He  made  himself  agreeable  to  the 
old  lady,  who,  despite  her  distrust  of  all  Darnells, 
was  fond  of  flattery,  as  the  old  are  usually,  having 
the  feeling  that  it  must  be  true,  as  they  have  noth- 
ing of  material  value  to  give  in  return.  She  liked 
also  his  gentle  Southern  ways  with  women,  and 
had  always  found  it  pleasant  to  be  asked  for  ad- 
vice ;  so  that  after  a  time  she  began  to  look 
eagerly  for  his  visits,  and  to  forget  that  his  posi- 
tion was  open  to  criticism  and  that  he  was  an 
\yfenemy  to  her  cause,  as  to  which  she  was,  after  all, 
more  indifferent  than  Olivia. 

As  to  that  young  person,  she  found  that  his 
presence  gave  her  a  lease  of  comparative  freedom, 
and  that  now  his  sister  was  always  willing  that 
she  should  be  absent  from  her  lounge  when  such 
absence  involved  a  talk  or  a  walk  with  the 
brother.  He  was  a  man  who  had  read  little,  but 


134  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

he  was  shrewd  enough  to  observe  that  Olivia 
liked  a  kind  of  literature  with  which  he  had  never 
troubled  himself,  and  it  was  easy  to  glance  over 
the  books  he  brought  her  and  to  learn  enough  of 
them  to  be  able  to  talk  about  them.  He  liked 
well  to  walk  with  her,  avoiding  the  more  crowded 
streets,  in  dread  of  some  chance  recognition. 

The  girl's  distrust  was  deeper  than  her  grand- 
mother's, because  instinctive.  His  nominal  dis- 
guise and  strong  Southern  sentiments,  as  to  which 
he  was  too  wise  to  dissemble,  and  the  mystery 
about  his  errand,  were  all  repugnant  to  Olivia's 
frank  nature ;  but  attentions  were  new  to  her,  and 
pleasant,  and  so  the  days  went  by  without  her  per- 
ceiving in  her  innocent  inexperience  that  she  was 
running  some  risk. 

Two  or  three  weeks  ran  away,  and  still  he  lin- 
gered in  New  York,  while  for  Olivia  life  began  to 
have  novel  and  pleasant  aspects,  without  her  hav- 
ing as  yet  any  of  those  sudden  womanly  revela- 
tions which  startle  a  young  girl  and  force  her  to 
ask  herself  definite  questions  as  to  her  true  rela- 
tion to  some  one  of  the  other  sex. 

Darnell  had  begun  a  deliberate  campaign  for 
which  at  first  there  was  no  motive  but  selfish 
greed.  For  a  time  he  was  watchful  and  cautious. 
He  ended  by  loving  her,  and  began  to  lose  some 
of  the  subtlety  which  is  possible  only  when  the 
heart  is  untouched. 

It  was  early  in  January  when  Darnell  reached 
New  York.  How  he  spent  the  winter  he  would 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  135 

have  found  it  hard  to  say.  Certainly  he  amused 
himself ;  and  Olivia  had  a  large  share  of  his  leis- 
ure. At  times  he  was  depressed,  at  other  times 
in  high  spirits.  Twice  he  returned  after  absences 
of  some  days  and  said  that  he  had  failed  to  get 
through  the  lines.  "  It  is  not,"  he  explained,  "  as 
if  I  were  in  the  army.  I  should  in  that  case  take 
every  risk." 

Octopia  hoped  he  would  not  be  as  reckless  as 
usual.  As  to  Olivia,  when  he  bade  her  good-by 
she  was  sorry,  and  when  he  came  back  she  was 
really  glad  to  see  him.  At  his  best  he  was  very 
gentle  ;  his  mere  tones  were  flatteries  to  the  woman 
of  the  minute,  and  the  contrast  between  almost 
feminine  beauty  and  the  most  masculine  courage 
/  has  a  strange  attraction.  She  could  not  but  like 
him.  He  even  succeeded  in  persuading  Mrs. 
Wynne  and  Octopia  into  whist  in  the  early  even- 
ings. It  is  not  strange  that  he  grew  more  and 
more  a  needful  part  of  their  life,  and  that  his  pres- 
ence became  pleasant  to  Olivia.  Had  he  been 
more  patient,  he  might  possibly  have  won  her. 
She  had  almost  ceased  to  wonder  why  he  stayed. 
And  thus  the  long  winter  months  went  by. 

Now  that  the  war  had  practically  come  to  an 
end  there  seemed  to  him  no  especial  reason  why 
he  should  leave  Octopia,  who  was  depressed  while 
he  was  away  and  anxious  with  a  certain  mingling 
of  gladness  when  he  came  back. 

He  had  of  course  ceased  to  fear  recognition  ;  his 
absence  had  been  explained  to  his  Virginia  friends, 


136  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

and  he  was  thus  still  more  free  to  accompany  his 
young  cousin.  He  came  and  went  almost  as  if  he 
had  been  an  inmate  of  the  too  quiet  household, 
and  one  pleasant  afternoon  in  April  sauntered 
into  the  parlor,  saying  as  he  entered,  "I  have 
leave  for  you  to  go  and  see  the  flower-show." 
For  a  moment  she  scarcely  seemed  to  hear  him, 
being  intent  on  an  afternoon  paper.  Then  she 
looked  up. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said  ;  "I  should  like  it  well. 
I  shall  be  ready  in  ten  minutes." 

"But  what  interested  you  so  much  in  those 
wretched  papers?  They  contain  little  but  abuse 
of  the  ruined  South." 

"  Oh !  nothing  of  importance.  I  chanced  to  see 
in  the  list  of  brevets  the  name  of  a  gentleman  I 
knew,  —  very  slightly,  you  know,  —  a  Mr.  Francis, 
Philip  Francis." 

"  Francis,"  he  repeated.  "  Why,  that  must  be 
the  man  I  met  in  the  hospital.  He  was  so  good 
as  to  remember  me  while  I  was  shut  up  in  Fort 
Delaware.  Good-looking  man,  with  blue  eyes, 
rather  nice  manners,  and  a  pretty  sharp  tongue." 

"  Very  nice  manners,"  said  Olive,  "  and  very 
handsome." 

"  Well,  so-so ;  but  where  on  earth  did  you 
chance  to  know  him  ?  " 

Then  Olive  told  her  little  story  of  the  encounter 
with  Francis,  greatly  to  the  rebel  gentleman's 
amusement. 

"  Octopia  mentioned  it,"  he  said,  "  but  you  teU 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  137 

it  better;  you  are  very  clever  as  a  story-teller.  By 
the  way,  lie  had  a  friend  who  did  me  a  service  the 
day  I  first  met  Mr.  Francis.  I  will  tell  you  about 
it  some  time,  but  now  you  had  better  get  ready ; 
my  tale  will  keep." 

In  a  few  minutes  she  returned,  equipped  for  the 
walk,  and  they  went  gayly  down  the  avenue.  As 
they  moved  along  she  said  to  him,  — 

"  I  am  curious  about  your  story.  Perhaps  you 
do  not  know  how  curious  I  am.  I  want  to  hear 
it  now,  at  once." 

"  I  wish,"  he  said,  "I  could  give  you  all  you  want 
as  easily.  What  would  I  not  give  you,  Olive  I 
The  world  is  full  of  pleasant  things.  You  should 
have  them  all,  if  I  had  my  way." 

"  You  are  very  good  to  me,"  she  returned. 

"  Who  would  not  be  good  to  you  ?  but  life  has 
not  been  kind  to  me,  and  I  have  little  to  give  that 
is  worth  the  giving." 

"I  owe  you  much  already." 

"  Ah  !  I  should  like  to  have  you  deeper  in  my 
debt.  You  like  books,  and  horses,  and  travel,  and 
pictures,  and  flowers ;  what  can  a  ruined  gentle- 
man give  you  of  these  ?  "  and  he  smiled  bitterly, 
thinking  what  true  delight  he  would  have,  were 
he  able,  as  he  should  have  been,  to  give  to  this 
generously  dowered  girl  the  things  which  seemed 
to  be  her  natural  rights. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "I  like  them  all;  but  it  is  use- 
less to  complain.  I  am  not  so  badly  off  as  some,  I 
dare  say." 


138  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

Then  they  walked  on  for  a  while  in  silence,  the 
man  glancing  now  and  then  at  her  pleasant  face, 
and  feeling  that  his  affairs  were  not  unprosperous 
so  far  as  the  person  at  his  side  was  concerned. 

At  last  she  turned  to  him  suddenly,  saying, 
"  But  about  your  story.  I  begin  to  think  you 
don't  want  to  tell  it." 

"Why  not?"  he  returned,  pleasantly,  and  went 
on  at  once  to  relate  how  Blake  had  rescued  him. 

He  told  it  well;  and  as  Olive  listened,  she 
seemed  with  her  artist  faculty  of  visual  realization 
to  see  the  misty  battle-field,  and  the  laden  man 
stumbling  over  awful  heaps  of  the  wounded  and 
the  dead. 

"  Do  you  remember  Bedivere  and  Arthur  in  the 
*  Morte  d'Arthur '?  "  she  said,  shyly.  "  It  was  like 
that,  was  it  not  ?  " 

"  I  never  read  it." 

"  Indeed !  then  you  must,"  she  cried. 

"My  education  is  progressing,"  he  said;  "I 
have  led  a  foolish,  half-wasted  life,  and  now  you 
are  making  me  feel  keenly  how  many  things  there 
are  which  I  do  not  know,  and  how  much  there  is 
in  them  that  may  make  existence  happier." 

Olive  felt  agreeably  the  implied  flattery. 
"Thank  you,"  she  said,  simply.  "But  tell  me, 
have  you  never  met  Mr.  Blake  since?" 

"  No  ;  I  wrote  to  him  through  Francis,  but  he 
did  not  reply." 

"  That  seems  singular,  does  it  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  very." 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  139 

"  I  should  like  to  see  that  man,"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  it  was  n't  anything  very  great,  after  all," 
returned  Darnell,  lightly.  "  I  suppose  that  any- 
body would  have  done  much  the  same." 

"But  what  was  he  doing  so  far  from  our  own 
lines?" 

"  I  asked  Francis  that ;  you  see  we  got  rather 
intimate  on  the  hospital  boat  which  took  us  up  to 
Fortress  Monroe.  He  told  me  that  one  of  our 
people,  a  colonel,  attracted  some  attention  by  the 
way  he  led  the  assault,  and  then  walked  coolly 
away,  until  he  was  struck  by  a  chance  shot. 
Captain  Blake,  who  must  be,  I  reckon,  rather  a 
'  romantic  individual,  wandered  out  to  find  the 
colonel,  and  not  discovering  him,  more  's  the  luck, 
chanced  on  me." 

"  Ah  !  "  exclaimed  Olive,  feeling  that  her  desire 
to  see  the  hero  of  the  exploit  was  justified,  and 
also  not  liking  the  tone  in  which  Darnell  spoke  of 
him.  "  He  must  be  a  gallant  gentleman,"  she 
said. 

"Oh,  as  to  that,  courage  is  common  enough. 
Look  at  those  horses,  Olive.  That  near  bay  is  a 
beauty,"  and  thus  chatting  of  the  things  about 
them  they  came  to  the  door  of  the  exhibition  hall, 
and  were  soon  moving  here  and  there  in  a  dense 
crowd  of  well-dressed  people.  The  flowers  were 
shown  in  aid  of  the  Sanitary  Commission,  and 
were  of  unusual  beauty,  from  the  gorgeous  groups 
of  azaleas  to  the  sweet  democracy  of  the  violet. 

It   cannot   be   said   that   Darnell   enjoyed  the 


140  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

flowers.  It  may  be  questioned  if  many  people  get 
true  pleasure  out  of  them,  —  not  many  men,  we 
may  be  sure.  But  there  is  some  delicate  mystery 
of  friendliness  between  certain  women  and  flow- 
ers. The  relation  is  real,  but  almost  too  delicate 
for  even  the  kindliest  poetic  analysis. 

If,  to  Darnell,  the  rose  and  the  lily  were  alike 
indifferent,  he  was  human  enough,  and  interested 
enough  in  the  woman  at  his  side,  to  enjoy  and 
humor  her  eager  delight.  She  moved  slowly 
among  the  flowers,  now  ceasing  to  hear  what  he 
said,  now  asking  rapid  questions,  which  he  could 
not  answer.  She  paused  at  last  in  wonder  before 
a  collection  of  fantastic  orchids.  One  of  them 
she  said  was  a  joke ;  one  she  was  sure  was  laugh- 
ing. Presently,  a  gray-haired  old  gentleman,  at- 
tracted by  the  charm  of  her  joyous  curiosity,  and 
amused  by  her  fancies,  called  her  attention  to  a 
hooded  orchid,  which  looked  like  a  cowled  monk, 
but  was  splotched  with  crimson. 

"  One  might  have  strange  fancies  about  a  flower 
like  that,"  he  said.  Darnell  stared  at  the  speaker, 
with  a  faint  feeling  of  dislike  at  the  intrusion  of 
some  one  who  seemed  to  be  in  accord  with  her 
odd  ideas. 

Olive  said:  "Yes,  that  is  true.  I  do  not  like 
that  flower.  It  looks  wicked.  Don't  you  think 
it  looks  wicked?" 

"  It  is  wicked,  I  am  sure,"  said  the  old  gentle- 
man. Then  he  added :  "  In  fact,  I  am  almost 
ashamed  to  own  it.  Please  to  accept  my  apolo. 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  141 

gies,  and  if  ever  you  would  like  to  see  my  or- 
chids, —  and  I  have  many  more,  —  here  is  my 
card." 

Olive  flushed,  and  said  "  Thank  you,"  as  she 
turned  away.  The  orchid-grower  wiped  his  spec- 
tacles, and  readjusted  them,  and  looked  after  her, 
and  quoted  a  line  of  Wordsworth  to  himself,  and 
then,  glancing  at  Darnell,  murmured  something 
'  about  human  orchids,  after  which  he  reflected 
briefly  upon  the  uncharitableness  of  judgments 
founded  on  a  glance,  and  so  returned  to  the  wor- 
ship of  his  orchids. 

"  Queer  old  fellow,"  said  Darnell.  "  Who  is 
he?" 

Olive  glanced  at  the  card,  and  then  swiftly 
searched  with  her  eye3  for  a  sight  of  the  old  poet, 
dear  through  all  the  gentle  melancholy  of  his  verse 
to  every  true  lover  of  wood  and  stream. 

"  Oh,  I  do  wish  I  had  only  known,"  she  cried, 
giving  the  card  to  Darnell. 

As  he  read  the  name,  he  became  dimly  aware 
that  it  was  that  of  a  man  he  ought  to  have  known 
something  more  about. 

"  Do  you  like  his  verses  ?  "  he  ventured  to  say, 
ingeniously  hesitating  to  commit  himself. 

"  Like  them  ?  Surely  I  like  them.  Don't  you 
like  them?" 

"  Really,"  he  said,  "  it  is  so  long  since  I  read 
them  that  I  forget  what  impression  they  made  on 
me.  You  must  read  them  to  me,  Olive.  But 
are  n't  you  tired?" 


142  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"  A  little,"  she  said,  "  not  much.  It  is  so  de- 
lightful. Just  one  look  at  the  window  gardens  and 
we  will  go."  Nevertheless,  she  flitted  for  a  half 
hour  from  violets  to  roses,  and  from  a  gorgeous 
show  of  geraniums  to  a  bank  of  penitent  lilies,  un- 
til Darnell,  a  little  bored  and  a  little  cross,  hav- 
ing been  much  elbowed  by  too  eager  people,  was 
glad  to  get  on  to  the  steps  out  of  the  close  air. 

As  they  moved  slowly  in  the  crowd  a  young 
fellow  pushed  hurriedly  by  them,  roughly  jostling 
Darnell,  as  he  passed.  The  Virginian  was  just  in 
a  state  of  mind  to  resent  anything.  He  caught 
the  lad,  for  he  was  hardly  more,  by  the  arm,  and 
said,  "  You  need  a  lesson  in  manners,  sir." 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  said  the  young  man,  with  rare 
good  humor.  "  My  mother  was  taken  ill  and  I 
wanted  to  find  her  carriage." 

For  a  moment  Darnell  still  held  him.  The 
young  man  flushed. 

"  Let  go,"  he  said.  "  If  there  were  not  women 
here"  — 

"  What ! "  exclaimed  Darnell. 

Olive  put  a  hand  on  his  arm. 

"Richard,  let  him  go  —  please."  Darnell  re- 
leased him.  Her  touch  sobered  the  angry  man. 
The  younger  gentleman  hesitated  a  moment,  and 
then,  remembering  his  errand,  lifted  his  hat  to 
Olivia,  said  "  You  will  pardon  me,  miss,"  and  was 
lost  in  the  crowd. 

"  I  can't  say  much  for  the  manners  of  your 
Northern  men,"  said  Darnell,  savagely,  as  they 
walked  on. 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  143 

"  I  thought  the  young  man  behaved  well,"  re- 
turned Olive.  "I  think  myself  that  you  were 
needlessly  cross,  Cousin  Richard." 

"Well,  I  suppose  so.  I  hate  to  be  elbowed. 
The  fact  is,  I  hate  Yankee  elbows  worse  than 
others."  And  he  laughed. 

"  These  are  not  Yankees,"  said  she,  smiling. 
"  You  forget  your  lessons.  I  am  a  Yankee." 

"  Oh,  Olive,  I  wish  they  were  all  like  you." 

She  made  no  reply,  but  walked  on  in  silence. 
She  was  by  nature  thoughtful  and  considerate  of 
others.  The  scene  she  had  witnessed  shocked  her, 
and  somehow  she  felt  that  a  more  than  usually 
pleasant  afternoon  had  been  spoiled  for  her  by 
Darnell's  irritability.  Then  she  reflected  that  to 
her,  at  least,  he  had  never  been  cross,  and  pres- 
ently she  wondered  if  he  might  not  be. 


CHAPTER  XVL 

"  If  his  is  not  a  kingly  role, 
To  be  the  chancellor  of  his  soul 
And  keep  his  conscience  well  might  b« 
A  task  no  saint  would  envy  thee." 

APRIL  had  come  and  gone  and  jilted  the  hopes 
of  spring.  The  surrender  of  Appomattox  had 
passed  into  history.  May  had  passed,  and  young 
June  came  in  with  a  mind  to  cover  up  and  hide 
the  graves  four  years  had  filled. 

Warm  days  stole  by  in  gentle  procession  and 
thronged  tree  and  root  and  bud  with  the  kindly 
life  of  spring-time.  Opposite  to  Olivia's  window 
were  two  great  horse-chestnuts.  Every  day  she 
sketched  their  changing  buds.  They  were  queer 
insects  yesterday,  and  green-winged  katydids  the 
next  day,  and  soon  pretty  verdurous  tents.  She, 
too,  was  changing,  and  was  almost  as  unconscious 
of  it  as  they. 

At  last  came  a  day  which  was  to  other  days  as 
is  a  fairy  prince  to  common  men,  and  to  which 
the  yearning  summer  opened  wide  her  heart. 
"  And  oh,  to  be  in  the  country  now !  "  said  Olive, 
and,  turning,  saw  Judith  carrying  a  basket  of 
flowers,  which  she  set  on  the  table.  Before  Olive 
saw  them  the  scent  said  to  her,  "  We  are  roses 
come  to  court." 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  145 

"  Where  did  they  come  from,  Judith  ?  I  love 
them !  "  she  cried,  and  half  buried  her  head  in 
the  basket,  drinking  in  their  fragrance,  and  then 
asked  again,  "  Do  you  know,  Judith,  where  they 
came  from  ?  "  She  knew  well  enough  herself,  and 
made  pretty  pretense  of  ignorance. 
/  "  Out  ob  de  debil's  garden,"  exclaimed  the  old 
^  black  woman,  looking  about  her. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  such  talk  ?  You  have 
been  very  strange  of  late,  Judith.  What  do  you 
mean?" 

"  Dat  's  a  way  I  has  ob  sayin'  things,"  returned 
the  black.  "  Don't  yo  go  to  tell  nobody  I  said 
dat.  Maybe  I  don't  hab  no  meanin'.  I 's  jest  a 
pore  ole  mammy." 

"  You  are  clever  enough  and  mysterious  enough 
at  times.  Are  those  flowers  for  me  ?  " 

"  Reckon  dat  was  what  Massa  Dick  meant." 

"  How  very  nice  of  him ! "  And  again  she 
buried  her  face  caressingly  in  the  basket. 

"  I  heard  Missus  Octy  tell  him  dey  was  good  for 
young  ladies.  He  would  n't  nebber  hab  thought 
ob  fetchin'  flowers." 

Olivia  rose  and  pushed  away  the  basket.  She 
was  conscious  of  the  malice  in  the  words,  but  had 
at  the  same  time  a  sense  of  disappointment  and 
then  a  bewildering  feeling  of  confusion.  "  You 
are  impertinent,"  she  said,  impatiently,  and  turn- 
ing, saw  that  the  black  had  left  the  room. 

She  was  still  standing  regarding  the  flowers  and 
deep  in  thought,  when  Darnell  entered  quietly, 


146  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

having  left  the  basket  himself  and  then  gone  up- 
stairs for  a  brief  visit  to  Octopia. 

As  he  came  in,  the  look  of  purity  and  innocent 
calmness  in  the  girl's  attitude  and  face  struck 
him.  A  sudden  sense  of  regret  went  through  his 
consciousness.  He  wished  for  the  moment  that 
he  had  been  a  better  man,  and  that  the  memory 
of  a  certain  dark  night  in  the  Wilderness  was 
not  on  his  mind.  "  I  am  glad  now,"  he  thought, 
"  that  I  did  not  kill  him."  Then  he  put  it  aside 
as  he  advanced.  He  felt  that  his  love  was  nobler 
than  his  nature. 

"  Good-morning,"  she  said,  coldly.  "  How  do 
you  find  Octopia?  " 

"  Better,"  he  said,  —  "  so  much  better  that  she 
has  begun  to  talk  of  her  usual  visit  to  Richfield 
Springs.  I  shall  take  her  myself  some  time  in 
July,  and  leave  her  there  with  Judith." 

"  How  long  shall  you  stay  with  her?  "  returned 
Olivia,  absently. 

"  Only  three  or  four  days.  As  soon  as  she  will 
let  me  off  I  shall  come  back." 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  indifferently,  smoothing  her 
gown  as  she  stood.  Then  she  added,  forcing  her- 
self to  make  talk,  but  preoccupied,  "  When  do  you 
go  South  again  ?  " 

**  I  do  not  know.  I  ought  to  go  at  once.  I 
should  have  gone  long  ago  but  for  Octopia ;  and 
now  she  insists  on  my  remaining  until  she  comes 
back  from  the  Springs.  I  hardly  realize  yet  that 
the  war  is  over  for  the  time,  and  that  we  poor 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  147 

Southerners  are  free  to  go  and  come.  What  little 
is  left  us  in  Virginia  needs  looking  after,"  —  this 
he  said  with  decent  indistinctness,  —  "but,"  he 
continued,  "  I  find  it  hard  to  go." 

"  It  will  be  a  sad  visit,  I  fear,"  said  Olivia. 
She  felt  deeply  for  the  brave  men  who  had  laid 
down  their  arms  and  gone  back  to  mournful 
homes.  Indeed,  the  man  beside  her  would  have 
had  a  better  chance  had  he  been  of  those  who  had 
taken  the  full  risks  of  war. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  it  will  be  as  you  say  — 
sad  enough."  In  reality  he  cared  little  for  the 
principles  involved  in  the  war,  but  he  had  a  sense 
of  personal  defeat,  which  only  the  noble  endure 
with  dignity.  "It  is  not  so  pleasant  a  subject 
that  I  like  to  talk  of  it,  even  to  one  so  tender  as 
yourself." 

She  made  no  reply  to  his  last  words,  but  went 
on  arranging  the  books  on  her  table.  There  was 
a  pause,  and  then  he  said,  abruptly, — 

"  I  hope  you  like  your  flowers." 

44 Yes;  I  like  flowers." 

"But  I  want  you  to  like  my  flowers,  Olivia." 

"  I  like  all  flowers." 

"  Then  I  wish  I  were  flowers." 

She  was  silent. 

"  I  shall  have  to  go  very  soon  now,"  he  con- 
tinued. "  It  would  make  my  going  easier,  Olive, 
if  I  could  think  that  you  would  remember  me 
kindly  when  I  am  gone." 

She  wished  he  would  go  at  once ;  the  growing 
softness  in  his  voice  troubled  her. 


148  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"  I  shall  always  think  kindly  of  you,"  she  said. 
"  You  have  done  much  to  make  my  life  brighter. 
Don't  think  I  do  not  feel  grateful." 

His  passion  overcame  him  as  he  watched  her, 
and  got  the  better  of  his  prudence. 

"  I  have  stayed,"  he  said,  "  because  I  love  you. 
No  man  could  love  a  woman  more.  Save  for 
Octopia,  I  am  a  lonely  man.  You  have  given  my 
life  a  new  value  and  fresh  motives.  I  think  I 
could  make  you  happy,  and  God  knows  you  would 
make  me  better." 

She  stood  before  him  silent  and  disturbed,  and 
tore  to  pieces  leaf  by  leaf  the  rose  she  had  held 
when  he  first  entered.  "  That  is  like  my  life,"  he 
said,  pointing  to  the  flower.  "  I  have  lost,  leaf 
by  leaf,  as  it  were,  my  home,  my  lands,  my  peo- 
ple, and  now  my  country  is  ruined.  I  am  a  poor 
Virginia  gentleman  ;  I  have  nothing  to  give  you 
but  my  love.  So  help  me  God,  it  is  honest,  Olive." 

He  felt  some  stern  need  to  put  it  thus  earnestly. 
y  It  was  most  true  that  day.  He  loved  her. 

She  was  still  speechless,  and  the  remnant  of 
the  rose  fell  at  her  feet.  A  storm  of  pity,  sus- 
picion, and  tender  self-pleading  went  over  her 
young  heart,  ever  too  open  at  the  signal  of  dis- 
tress, as  Octopia  had  easily  learned.  He  had  been 
good  to  her,  and  helpful,  and  gentle. 

"  Don't  answer  me  now,  Olive.     Let  it  rest." 

"  Oh,  thank  you !  "  she  said.  "  I  —  I  —  I  don't 
know.  I  don't  think  I  ever  shall  know."  Then 
she  looked  up  at  his  face,  and  his  strong  likeness 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  149 

to  Octopia  was  half-consciously  disturbing.  Some- 
how the  observation  steadied  her. 

"  Cousin  Richard,"  she  said,  "  I  am  only  a  girl, 
and  I  know  little  of  the  world  and  too  little  of 
myself.  I  cannot  answer  you  now,  and  I  do  not 
believe  that  I  shall  ever  see  my  way  to  be  more 
to  you  than  I  am  to-day.  Please  not  to  say  any 
more." 

He  was  not  altogether  dissatisfied,  but  the  girl's 
sudden  assumption  of  a  woman's  calmness  of  de- 
meanor showed  him  that  he  had  not  at  all  under- 
stood the  decisiveness  and  force  of  her  character. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said.  "It  is  quite  natural, 
dear  Olive,  that  you  should  want  to  wait.  If  it 
be  for  years,  I  shall  be  patient."  He  was  quite 
tender  about  it,  and  seemed  to  be  comforting  her 
rather  than  himself.  In  fact,  he  had  reflected 
briefly.  He  had  a  pet  idea  that  the  winning  of  a 
woman  depends  somewhat,  as  he  would  have 
coarsely  stated  it,  on  the  amount  of  advertise- 
ment you  do.  He  would  make  a  new  siege,  and 
not  be  in  too  great  haste,  and  was  not  without  be- 
lief that  some  day  he  might  find  a  helpful  traitor 
in  her  heart.  "  I  am  friend  enough  even  in  my 
love  to  wish  that  you  should  wait  until  you  know 
me  better." 

"  Thank  you !  "  she  said ;  and  he  went  out  of 
the  room,  leaving  her  ready  to  cry  and  half  angry 
with  herself.  Suddenly  she  stumbled  as  it  were 
over  a  memory  of  Philip  Francis  and  the  vision 
of  his  laughing  face.  Then  she  heard  her  cousin 


150  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

go  up-stairs,  and  after  a  few  minutes  was  aware  of 
the  hall  door  being  opened  and  shut,  and  through 
the  window  saw  him  go  smiling  down  the  steps. 

"  He  has  been  up  to  see  Octopia,  —  I  really 
think  he  has  been  up-stairs  to  tell  Octopia ;  and 
what  has  she  said  to  please  him,  I  wonder  ?  " 

She  was  vexed  at  the  visit  and  at  its  result,  — 
his  smiles. 

A  first  love-affair  to  a  pure  young  girl,  end  as 
it  may,  has  in  it  a  mystery  like  the  coming  of 
spring ;  it  is  sure  to  give  her  some  curious  self- 
knowledge  unknown  before.  It  sets  the  sure  seal 
of  womanhood  on  the  thoughtful  and  the  best 
feminine  natures,  and,  with  its  offspring  of  hopes 
and  fears  and  doubts  and  wonders  and  emotional 
disturbance,  is  an  event  so  tremendous  in  its 
effects  that  perhaps  no  man  can  approach  a  cor- 
rect estimate  of  its  influences  on  the  woman.  But 
it  is  the  indecisive  love-affairs  that  are  the  most 
potent  moral  ferments,  and  doubt  is  a  fruitful  soil. 

Olivia  had  been  brought  up  among  her  elders 
in  a  life  unnaturally  devoid  of  contacts  with  the 
young  of  her  sex,  so  that  absence  of  talk  of  other 
girls1  love-affairs  and  of  the  lighter  gossip  about 
such  matters  had  left  her  simple  and  uninstructed. 
The  heart  of  such  a  woman  often  surrenders  to 
love  with  difficulty.  Society  has  done  half  the 
wooing  beforehand  for  some  women ;  the  sunshine 
of  opportunity  does  the  rest.  For  nobler  souls 
living  out  of  the  world  the  pride  of  purity  and  an 
intelligent  sense  of  moral  obligation  to  their  own 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  151 

being  guards  well  the  heart  which  once  won  is  won 
forever. 

Olivia  felt  that  not  even  to  her  grandmother 
could  she  now  talk  freely.  The  call  on  her  pity 
and  sympathy,  the  gentle  thankfulness  for  a  hap- 
pier, fuller  life,  had  come,  like  a  too  early  spring 
day  to  the  rosebud  which  coyly  peeps  out  a  little 
and  waits  for  more  certain  sunshine. 

When  she  sat  down  to  think  a  little,  like  a 
wholesome -minded  maid,  of  the  life  before  her, 
her  indecision  soon  grew  to  certainty  of  dissent. 
Life  with  Richard  Darnell,  —  a  home,  his  children, 
—  she  flushed.  They  did  not  seem,  as  she  thought 
of  it,  to  be  hers  also. 

There  was  no  sweetness  in  the  thought.  She 
had  an  echo  of  new  distrust  as  she  pictured  to 
herself  Octopia  clinging  to  her  brother  and  her- 
self for  a  lifetime.  She  abruptly  ceased  thinking, 
as  one  shuts  up  a  tedious  book,  leaving  no  markei- 
between  the  leaves. 

But  she  was  not  done  with  it.  Octopia  was 
preparing  for  her  annual  visit  to  Richfield,  and 
the  preparation,  always  elaborate,  wearied  her  and 
made  her  calls  upon  Olivia  incessant  and  perplex- 
ing. The  little  notes  to  Olivia  and  to  Mrs.  Wynne 
were  more  numerous,  and  twice  Octopia  had  spent 
half  a  morning  with  the  latter,  to  Olive's  surprise. 

Late  in  the  winter  evenings  Olivia's  piano  was 
her  greatest  resource  after  the  trials  of  the  day 
were  over;  but  in  the  warm  weather  of  July, 
when  windows  and  doors  were  open,  the  music 


152  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

disturbed  Octopia,  and  Judith  was  apt  to  appear 
with  a  note  soon  after  the  music  began,  and 
"  would  dear  sweet  Olive  please  not  to  play  this 
evening?"  At  last  the  piano  was  permanently 
closed,  to  the  young  woman's  damage,  as  music 
always  soothed  and  steadied  her. 

Meanwhile,  Richard  Darnell  uttered  no  further 
words  of  wooing,  but  was  simply  kind,  constantly 
endeavoring  in  various  ways  to  save  the  girl  from 
his  sister's  exactions.  Once  only  he  said  that  Oc- 
topia was  not  fit  to  live  with  other  women ;  that, 

^  in  fact,  he  did  not  see  how  any  one  could  live  with 
her.  Olivia  wondered  how  he  could  have  guessed 
so  well  her  own  feelings  on  this  subject. 

Meanwhile    Mrs.    Wynne    looked  worn     and 

v  thinner  than  ever,  but  said  nothing  to  her  grand- 
child. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

"  Thou  must  be  lord  and  master  of  thy  own  actions  —  not  as  a  servant  or 
a  hireling." 

A  MONTH  or  more  was  commonly  required  to 
prepare  for  any  journey  Octopia  had  to  make: 
she  had  learned  the  follies  of  luxury  easily.  For 
a  few  days  she  thought  of  taking  Olivia  with  her ; 
but  she  was  already  faintly  jealous,  and  now  at 
least  should  have  Dick  to  herself  for  a  season.  It 
was  near  August  before  she  felt  able  to  leave. 

The  day  preceding  that  of  her  departure  she 
was  seated  in  the  easiest  of  all  the  uneasy  seats 
in  Mrs.  Wynne's  sitting-room,  and  in  front  of  her, 
still  erect  from  long  habit,  in  a  high-backed  chair, 
sat  the  elder  lady. 

"I  am  going  away  to-morrow,"  said  Octopia, 
"  and  I  want  to  have  a  talk  with  you  about 
Olive." 

"  We  have  had  so  many,"  returned  Mrs.  Wynne, 
weariedly. 

"  That  is  not  my  fault,  cousin.  The  girl  has 
no  sense.  You  are  old,  Cousin  Anne,  and  I  am 
sick  and  feeble ;  I  have  never  recovered  my  health 
V  since  that  awful  week  with  Cousin  Arthur.  I 
have  paid  for  your  security  from  the  discomfort 
of  publicity  with  my  lost  life." 


154  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

Mrs.  Wynne  put  up  both  thin  palms  in  tremu- 
lous protest.  "  I  can't  bear  it,"  she  said. 

"  I  don't  want  to  remind  you  of  it.  It  is  all  I 
can  bear,  to  think  of  it  myself.  But  about  Olivia. 
Dear  cousin,  who  is  to  care  for  her  when  we  are 
gone?  She  will  simply  fall  a  prey  to  some  for- 
tune-hunter. My  brother  loves  her,  as  I  have  told 
you.  He  is  a  gentleman,  and  kind  and  tender. 
What  woman  could  want  a  better  fate  than  to 
marry  him  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  induce  her  to  do  that  ?  I  cannot. 
It  seems  to  me  I  can  have  no  peace  or  quiet ! 
There  is  always  something,  —  always  something!" 

"  But  I  don't  want  you  to  insist  on  her  doing 
what  she  does  not  want  to  do,"  said  Octopia.  "  It 
is  true,  as  I  told  you,  that  she  has  put  him  off,  — 
which  only  means  that  she  has  the  natural  hesita- 
tion any  girl  has  about  such  matters.  I  don't  com- 
plain of  that:  it  is  all  right.  Now,  if  you  will 
only  talk  to  her  a  little  and  put  it  before  her  as 
your  wish,  I  am  sure  it  will  have  its  influence.  I 
find  that  I  can  always  get  her  to  do  as  I  want." 

The  old  lady's  face  lit  up.  She  detested  con- 
tests, and  saw  a  way  to  deliverance.  "  Suppose," 
she  said,  "  you  were  to  talk  to  her." 

"  Oh,  what  I  should  say  would  not  —  could  not 
—  indeed,  ought  not  to  have  the  same  weight  as 
what  you  would  say.  And  besides,  I  have  a  feel- 
ing of  delicacy  about  it,  Cousin  Anne." 

"  Indeed !  "  said  Mrs.  Wynne,  with  a  feeble 
sense  of  amusement. 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  155 

"  Yes.  It  must  come  from  you.  It  is  a  service 
I  would  gladly  render  you  and  her,  but  I  am  not 
well  enough  for  a  struggle  with  Olive." 

"  And  do  you  think  I  am  ?  " 

"No,  I  do  not;  but  it  is  your  duty,  and  not 
mine." 

"It  hardly  seems  to  me  a  duty,  Octopia.  Why 
should  I  or  any  one  interfere  ?  " 

"  Oh,  really,  I  cannot  go  all  over  this  again," 
returned  Octopia,  rising,  her  sallow  face  flushing 
with  annoyance.  She  stood  with  one  hand  on  the 
old  lady's  chair  to  steady  herself,  and  looked  down 
at  her.  "  If  you  insist,"  she  said,  —  "  if  you  de- 
sire it,  —  I  will  talk  to  Olive ;  but  to  do  so  I  must 
/  make  her  understand  that  she  is  not  situated  as 
other  girls  are." 

"  Oh,  my  God,  woman,"  broke  in  Mrs.  Wynne, 
looking  up,  "you  could  not  say  that !  How  could 
you  say  that  ?  Let  it  die  with  us,  who  are  old  in 
suffering  and  can  bear  it.  You  shall  not  tell  her  I 
Octopia,  you  have  no  heart." 

"  I  have  too  much,"  —  and  she  believed  it,  — 
"  so  much  that  rather  than  not  help  Olive  even 
against  her  foolish  self  I  am  willing  to  inflict  pain 
upon  her  and  myself.  Will  you  speak  to  her, 
cousin  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Wynne,  worn  out  and  trem- 
bling; "if  I  must,  I  will."  She  knew  that  she 
must. 

"  Oh,  there  is  no  '  must '  about  it.  And  you 
will  be  firm  with  her,  —  make  her  see  that  it  is 
her  duty  to  you  ?  " 


156  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"  God  help  me !     I  will  do  my  best." 

"  No  one  can  do  more.  But  you  are  sure  you 
will  be  decided  ?  I  don't  want  to  have  to  aid  you 
in  the  only  way  I  can.  If  you  fail,  I  may  have  to 
help  you." 

"  God  forbid  !  "  thought  the  older  woman,  and 
her  head  fell  in  feeble  submission  and  in  prayer, 
as  Octopia,  staying  her  weakness  by  a  touch  on 
table  or  chair-back,  went  out  of  the  room.  As 
she  opened  the  door,  Judith  fell  back,  say- 
ing,— 

"  Lor,  Missus,  you  done  skeer  me,  you  's  so 
sudden." 

Octopia  was  too  much  preoccupied  for  active 
suspicion,  but  she  said,  "  You  are  always  about 
doors,"  while  the  shuffling  old  black  woman  scut- 
tled away,  muttering,  and  glad  of  an  escape  of 
such  unlooked-for  ease. 

As  to  her  mistress,  she  was  at  a  crisis.  For 
years  she  had  secured  a  home  and  luxury  by  gen- 
tly-urged claims  which  amply  sufficed  to  keep 
Mrs.  Wynne  in  a  state  of  obedience  which  she 
found  insured  her  comfort.  The  marriage  of 
Olivia  to  Richard  Darnell  was  a  scheme  of  recent 
growth.  Her  plan  had  always  for  her  a  certain 
vagueness  which  seemed  to  prevent  her  from  see- 
ing it  in  a  true  and  unpleasant  light.  Octopia 
had  always  said  to  herself,  "  I  am  only  using  and 
shall  only  use  my  knowledge  to  secure  to  me  and 
to  them  a  mutual  relation  which  will  be  of  ser- 
vice to  them."  As  to  going  further  she  had  no 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  157 

intention.  To  proclaim  what  she  knew,  would  be, 
she  was  well  aware,  an  act  of  dishonor,  which  she 
set  aside  as  for  her  impossible.  She  may  have 
had  some  doubt  as  to  whether  such  a  revelation 
would  not  destroy  the  practical  values  which  it 
possessed  so  long  as  it  remained  unuttered. 

There  had  also  been  for  her,  of  late,  a  question 
as  to  Olivia,  who  was  plainly  developing  such 
strength  of  resistance  as  annoyed  the  woman  who 
had  found  her  so  docile  a  year  or  two  back. 
Richard  had  strongly  urged  his  sister  to  let  his 
/  love-affair  alone  ;  but  Octopia  was  too  fond  of  con- 
trol to  see  the  wisdom  of  his  advice.  He  had  said 
also  that  they  were  unwise  to  go  away ;  but  this, 
too,  seemed  silly  to  his  sister,  who  could  not  un- 
derstand how  any  one  could  fail  to  love  him,  and 
who  thought  that  his  absence  for  a  few  days  would 
bm,  cause  Olivia  to  miss  his  constant  attentions. 

The  next  morning  Octopia  was  seated  in  a  car- 
riage about  to  start  for  the  station,  surrounded 
with  an  invalid's  armament  of  cushions,  shawls, 
and  smelling-salts.  Darnell  waited  impatiently 
on  the  door-step,  while  Judith,  hot  and  shining, 
went  and  came.  At  last  Octopia  declared  herself 
ready,  and  Darnell  entered  the  hack.  As  Judith 
was  about  to  follow  him,  her  mistress  said,  — 

"  Here  is  a  note.  I  forgot  it.  Take  it  up  to 
Mrs.  Wynne,  —  mind,  Mrs.  Wynne,  —  and  make 
haste." 

"  We  shall  be  late,"  said  Darnell. 

"  Dick,  you  are  like  all  men.     The  only  patient 


158  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

men  I  ever  saw  were  fishing.  Imagine  youself 
fishing.  She  will  not  be  long." 

A  minute  or  two  passed,  and  the  black  re- 
turned. 

"  Ah !  get  in,  Judy."     And  they  drove  away. 

Octopia  was  supremely  happy,  now  that  she  had 
her  brother  to  herself  for  some  days  and  could 
envelop  him  with  eager  affection.  Women  of 
Octopia's  type  are  heart-misers  ;  they  like  to  have 
constant  touch  and  sight  of  the  gold  of  love.  Even 
friendship  with  them  becomes  a  retail  business, 
sustained  by  a  multitude  of  little  exchanges. 

For  the  time,  Richard  Darnell  meant  to  accept 
the  role  of  vassal  to  his  sister's  whims ;  nor  was  he 
altogether  aware  of  the  extent  to  which  her  en- 
during persistency  influenced  even  him. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

«'  Oh,  but  the  lady  heard  the  whole  truth  at  once ! 
What  meant  she  ?  —  Who  was  she  ?  —  Her  duty  and  station, 
The  wisdom  of  age  and  the  folly  of  youth,  at  once, 
Its  decent  regard  and  its  fitting  relation." 

WHEN  Judith  went  hastily  into  the  hall  with 
Octopia's  note  she  was  at  the  end  of  her  patience 
and,  as  she  said,  "  about  ready  to  drop."  She 
had  a  strong  liking  for  Olivia,  who  alone  was  al- 
ways kind  to  her,  and  for  some  days  the  old 
black's  dull  thoughts  had  been  of  her  and  of  the 
coil  which  was  gathering  about  her.  At  times, 
too,  a  dim  desire  to  hurt  Octopia  —  to  hurt  her 
physically  —  arose  in  the  mind  of  the  old  black 
woman. 

She  turned  into  the  drawing-room,  where  Olivia 
was  seated  with  her  head  in  her  hands. 

"  What 's  de  mattah,  honey  ?  "  said  Judith. 

"  Oh,  I  am  tired  out.  I  think  I  should  like  to 
go  to  bed  for  a  week.  I  wonder  you  can  bear  it 
as  you  do.  Why  don't  you  leave  her  ?  Why  don't 
you  run  away  ?  " 

"I  reckon  I 's  too  old,  Missy  Olive.  What 
could  an  ole  woman  like  me  do?  I  ain't  no  good, 
and  I  jes'  could  n't  do  it."  She  had  been  too  long 
morally  imprisoned  to  contemplate  with  pleasure 
the  idea  of  release. 


160  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"  Here  's  a  note  for  you,  missy,"  she  added,  and 
a  sudden  smile  came  on  her  face.  "  Now,  if  I  was 
you,"  she  said,  "  I  jes'  would  run  away." 

Olivia  started.  She  was  that  moment  thinking 
how  delightful  it  would  be  to  fly  from  Octopia. 

"  Good-by,  missy.     De  Lor  bless  you  !  " 

As  she  went  out,  Olivia  mechanically  opened 
the  folded  slip  of  paper,  and  read,  — 

DEAK  COUSIN,  —  For  your  sake  and  hers,  do 
not  fail  to  do  your  best.  Let  it  be  settled  before 
Richard  comes  back.  It  must  be  settled. 

Yours,  OCTOPIA. 

The  girl  turned  the  note  over.  It  was  addressed 
to  Mrs.  Wynne  and  marked  "  private." 

Olivia  leaped  to  her  feet.  "  What  must  be 
settled  ?  "  she  cried  aloud.  "  This  is  too  —  too 
much!  Yes,  it  shall  be  settled,"  she  said;  and 
with  resolute  step  she  went  hastily  to  her  grand- 
mother's room. 

She  burst  in  abruptly  without  knocking ;  Mrs. 
Wynne  looked  up. 

"  Has  she  gone  ?  "  she  said. 

"Yes,  —  forever,  I  hope.  Read  that,  grand- 
mamma." And  she  gave  her  the  note.  "  I 
opened  it  by  mistake.  Oh,  read  it, — read  it,"  she 
repeated,  impatiently.  The  meagre,  pretty  old 
lady  in  her  chair,  calm  and  passionless,  and  the 
flushed,  angry,  resolute  young  woman,  made  a 
strange  contrast. 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  161 

"  Well,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Wynne,  "  sit  down  and 
let  us  talk  it  over.  I  meant  to  speak  to  you  about 
it." 

"  No,  I  can't  sit  down.  What  is  there  to  talk 
over?  What  does  that  woman  mean  about  set- 
tling it  ?  There  is  nothing  to  settle." 

"Olivia,  you  are  unreasonable  and  disrespectful. 
Do  sit  down,  child." 

"  Well,"  she  said,  seating  herself  on  a  stool  at 
the  old  lady's  feet,  "  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  If  you  talk  to  me  in  that  way  we  had  better 
not  go  on.  Girls  had  good  manners  in  my  day. 
Perhaps  you  will  allow  me  to  speak." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  displease  you.  I  will  try  to  be 
more  pleasant.  And  do  go  on,  dear  grand- 
mamma ;  I  promise  not  to  say  a  word." 

Mrs.  Wynne  did  not  find  it  easy.  She  hesi- 
tated, and  at  last  said  feebly,  but  tenderly,  — 

"Olive,  my  child,  do  you  love  Richard  Dar- 
nell?" 

"No." 

"  But  you  might  come  to  love  him  in  time. 
Many  women  learn  to  love  men  they  did  not  care 
about  much  when  they  first  married.  Of  course 
there  must  be  esteem,  my  dear.  I  really  was  not 
very  certain  as  to  whether  or  not  I  did  really  love 
your  grandfather  when  he  married  me.  Marriage 
makes  such  a  difference." 

Olivia  shuddered.  "  I  cannot  do  it,  I  will 
not ! " 

"Olivia!" 


162  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"  I  hate  him  ! "  cried  the  girl,  passionately ;  "  I 
hate  him  ! "  running  her  hands  through  her  hair 
in  her  excitement  until  the  tangled  masses  of 
varied  brown  fell  about  her  face  and  shoulders. 

"  Listen  to  me,"  said  her  grandmother.  "  I 
am  old  and  weak,  and  I  cannot  bear  much  more. 
Octopia  is  hard ;  she  thinks  only  of  her  own  in- 
terests. We  are  in  her  power,  because  she  can 
tell  to  the  world  what  she  knows  and  what  if 
known  will  send  me  to  the  grave.  I  could  not 
bear  it,  nor  could  you.  If  you  can  marry  Rich- 
ard Darnell,  she  will  have  some  interest  to  hold 
her  cruel  tongue,  and  I  shall  have  peace." 

Olivia  looked  up,  astonished,  as  a  sense  of  the 
old  lady's  selfishness  came  over  her. 

"  But,"  she  said,  "  no  woman  could  do  such  a 
thing.  Octopia  is  not  cruel ;  she  does  not  mean 
to  be  hard.  I  should  feel  myself  more  dishonored 
by  marrying  Richard  Darnell  than  by  anything 
she  can  say." 

"  You  do  not  know,  Olive  "  — 

"  Then  tell  me.  Why  should  we  care  ?  We 
are  alone  in  the  world.  What  does  it  matter  ?  " 

Mrs.  Wynne  hesitated.  "It  is  about  your 
father."  She  touched  the  tenderest  spot  in  Olive's 
memory. 

"  Oh,  grandmamma,  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  answer  you  ;  indeed,  I  will  not ;  once 
for  all,  I  will  not.  Octopia  would  be  merciless. 
Can  you  bear  to  see  your  father's  name  —  oh,  I 
cannot  tell  you !  If  only  you  could  see  it  as  I  do ! " 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  163 

"  I  could  bear  anything,  grandmamma,  except 
to  marry  that  man.  You  would  not  wish  that  I 
should  willingly  sin  ?  It  would  be  a  sin  if  I  mar- 
ried him.  You  will  not  give  me  the  full  means  of 
judging  for  myself,  and  I  am  too  young  to  know 
whether  that  is  wise  or  not ;  but,  knowing  what  I 
know,  I  must  decide.  I  will  not  marry  my  cousin, 
and  I  will  face  anything  Octopia  can  do  first." 

"  Then  you  will  kill  me." 

"  No." 

"  What  can  we  do  ?  " 

"I  will  tell  you,  grandmamma.  You  have 
money,  and  Octopia  has  none ;  pay  her,  and  let 
her  go." 

"  You  don't  know  her.  She  would  never  rest 
satisfied.  She  would  give  the  money  to  her 
brother,  and  he  would  spend  it." 

"  And  this  is  the  man  to  whom  you  would  give 
me  !  "  exclaimed  Olive,  rising  proudly. 

"And  what  am  I  to  say  to  Octopia?" 

"Say  nothing."  Then  she  hesitated  as  a 
thought  ran  through  her  mind.  "  While  you  live 
she  will  never  tell ;  she  will  always  hope  to  get 
what  she  wants.  Let  us  go  away  and  leave  her,  — 
now,  at  once.  You  are  clever  enough  to  know 
how  to  do  it ;  and  the  world  is  wide,  —  wide, 
grandmamma." 

"  You  are  absurd,  Olive  !  How  could  we  go  ? 
Where  could  we  go  ?  " 

"  Oh,  anywhere,  anywhere !  Only  say  you  will 
go,  and  we  shall  manage  it ;  I  will  manage  it." 


164  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

Mrs.  Wynne  was  amazed  at  the  girl's  audacity 
and  enterprise,  but  to  her  such  a  step  seemed 
almost  impossible.  The  numbing  palsy  of  age 
was  on  her,  the  dislike  of  change,  the  dread  of  the 
new  and  unfamiliar  ;  but  Olivia  was  passionately 
possessed  of  the  idea;  a  great  hope  was  in  her 
soul,  and  she  grew  implacably  obstinate,  putting 
aside  with  swift  answers  every  objection.  At  last 
she  said,  — 

"  It  has  come  to  this,  grandmamma :  either 
Octopia  goes  or  I  go.  If  you  will  not  listen  to 
me  I  will  go  alone." 

Mrs.  Wynne  began  to  think  the  girl  distraught. 
Evidently  all  authority  was  at  an  end.  Then  she 
yielded  a  little.  All  her  life  she  had  given  way 
to  some  one,  —  her  husband,  her  children,  Octo- 
pia. It  was  easier  to  give  way  than  to  resist ;  and 
if  she  threw  the  whole  burden  on  this  inexpe- 
rienced girl,  what  more  likely  than  that  she  would 
presently  come  to  her  with  a  confession  of  failure  ? 
At  length  she  said,  in  despair,  — 

"But  suppose  we  do  go  away,  like  two  run- 
away children  ;  she  will  find  us." 

"  At  least  we  shall  have  a  few  weeks  of  rest, 
grandmamma."  Olivia's  face  brightened  ;  she  saw 
that  she  was  winning  her  battle.  She  had  trav- 
eled much  until  she  was  seventeen,  and  to  move 
from  place  to  place  presented  to  her  no  such  diffi- 
culties as  troubled  her  grandmother.  "  If,"  she 
replied,  "  she  finds  us,  and  of  course  she  will,  we 
shall  be  no  woi-se  off.  At  all  events  it  will  be  a 
respite ;  and  I  can  endure  no  longer." 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  165 

Mrs.  Wynne  was  silent. 

44  Well  ?  "  questioned  Olivia. 

44  Do  you  think,  child,  you  could  really  arrange 
it  all?" 

44  Try  me  !  oh,  grandmamma,  say  yes !  —  only 
say  yes ! " 

"  And  I  shall  not  be  worried  or  troubled  ?  " 

44  No,  I  promise  you." 

44  Then  have  your  own  way,"  returned  Mrs. 
Wynne,  irritably. 

Olivia  kissed  her  and  turned  aside,  her  heart 
filled  with  unspeakable  thankfulness.  Then  she 
went  down-stairs  gayly.  A  sudden  rush  of  hope- 
given  vitality  seemed  to  flood  her  being  with 
energy.  A  joyful  sense  of  adventure  was  on  her, 
—  a  need  to  be  instantly  doing  something. 

Accordingly,  she  collected  a  number  of  little 
bills  and  went  out  to  pay  them ;  it  seemed  a  step 
forward.  All  day  long  she  was  in  and  out  of 
Mrs.  Wynne's  room,  alert  and  quick,  asking  ques- 
tions and  so  disturbing  the  old  lady  that  she  was 
nearly  distracted.  Then  she  saw  their  landlady 
and  arranged  matters  with  her.  At  every  new 
step  it  seemed  to  grow  easier ;  and  when  at  last 
she  talked  to  her  grandmother's  maid,  a  young 
person  not  much  older  than  Olivia  herself,  she  was 
delighted  to  find  an  easily-won  ally.  Like  Olivia, 
she  was  glad  of  a  change,  and  she  only  wondered 
why  rich  people  would  stay  in  New  York  all  sum- 
mer when  they  could  be  elsewhere.  She  set  about 
packing  with  an  amount  of  noisy  energy  that 
nearly  drove  poor  Mrs.  Wynne  frantic. 


166  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

On  the  following  morning  Olivia  saw  her  grand- 
mother early.  She  stood  before  her  with  a  slip 
of  paper  filled  with  memoranda,  inexorable  as 
fate.  Mrs.  Wynne  saw  that  decision  was  soon  to 
pass  into  action. 

"  What  is  it  now,  Olive  ?  "  she  moaned.  "  You 
are  worse  than  Octopia." 

"  Oh,  there  are  several  things." 

"Well?" 

"  I  want  some  money.  We  shall  owe  for  three 
months,  and  it  must  be  paid  in  advance." 

"  But  we  shall  get  nothing  for  it.  It  is  mere 
waste." 

"  I  know ;  but  we  shall  get  freedom.  There 
are  some  bills,  and  traveling  money,"  she  con- 
tinued, "and  I  don't  think  we  ought  to  leave 
Octopia  penniless." 

"Penniless!  she  has  money  enough,"  —  which 
was  true.  From  time  to  time,  on  a  variety  of 
pretexts,  she  had  extracted  from  Mrs.  Wynne 
small  or  larger  amounts,  or  borrowed  money  which 
she  conveniently  forgot  to  return. 

Olivia  was  surprised,  and  a  little  doubtful. 
"You  are  sure  that  she  has  enough?"  she  said. 
"  We  would  not  wish  her  to  suffer." 

Mrs.  Wynne  was  vaguely  conscious  that  it 
might  not  be  altogether  disagreeable  to  know 
that  Octopia  was  uncomfortable.  "  Make  your 
mind  easy  about  her,"  she  said.  "  And  now  I 
should  like  to  know  where  you  propose  to  go." 

"  I  was  thinking  of  Cape  May.     We  have  been 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  167 

there  before,  and  Octopia  will  never  suppose  we 
have  gone  where  we  had  once  been." 

"  You  are  a  clever  child,  my  dear." 

"  And  if  it  be  too  noisy,  grandmamma,  we  need 
not  stay  there.  I  was  thinking  we  might  go  at 
once  up  the  coast  a  little  way,  to  some  smaller 
place." 

"  Gracious,  child  !  it  is  near  August  now.  Do 
you  suppose  we  could  spend  the  winter?  " 

"  No,  but  we  might  have  a  couple  of  months  to 
think  what  we  should  do  next.  It  is  very  quiet 
at  the  seaside  in  the  autumn,  and  no  one  goes 
there." 

"  I  will  go  where  you  please,  if  it  be  not  too 
far."  The  old  lady  was  utterly  subjugated.  "  But 
how  do  you  propose  to  keep  Octopia  in  the 
dark?" 

Olivia  laughed.  "  I  am  not  so  silly  as  to  expect 
that.  But  let  us  leave  her  in  the  dark  for  a  while 
at  least,  grandmamma." 

Mrs.  Wynne  was  amused.  The  idea  of  Octo- 
pia's  rage  when  on  her  return  she  should  find 
them  gone,  none  knew  where,  was  maliciously 
satisfactory.  For  the  first  time  she  began  to  en- 
ter thoroughly  into  the  girl's  scheme  and  to  assist 
her  with  advice,  which  she  greatly  needed.  Olivia 
was  delighted. 

"  You  must  order  all  notes  and  bills  and  letters 
to  be  sent  to  Mr.  Pennell,  and  the  furniture  in 
this  room  must  be  stored.  You  know  I  value  it. 
We  may  never  come  back." 


168  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"  Never !  "  said  Olivia,  gayly.  "  That  would  be 
too  good  to  be  true." 

"  And  you  must  see  Mr.  Pennell  at  once,  —  at 
once,  my  dear.  Octopia  will  go  to  him  the  mo- 
ment she  arrives.  You  can  do  nothing  without 
his  help.  Send  a  note  and  say  you  will  call  at 
his  office  at  three,  and  take  a  carriage.  Don't  go 
alone.  Take  my  maid." 

The  girl  was  shrewd  enough  to  see  that  the 
gentleman  she  was  about  to  interview  would  re- 
gard what  she  had  to  say  as  rather  singular,  and 
as  she  rode  to  his  office  she  thought  over  her 
purpose  with  care.  She  knew  him  well,  but  hith- 
erto he  himself  had  always  come  to  their  rooms, 
and  she  looked  forward  to  her  visit  as  a  rather 
formidable  enterprise. 

She  was  shown  up  into  a  little  waiting-room 
where  she  sat  down  and  waited  for  Mr.  Pennell, 
wondering  a  little  what  he  would  say  concerning 
her  errand. 

By  nature  shy  and  gently  romantic,  his  career 
in  life  had  been  singularly  modified  by  the  fact 
that,  for  reasons  unknown  to  himself,  his  parents 
had  chosen  to  label  him  Addenda  Pennell.  From 
the  time  he  could  understand  this  appellative  it 
became  a  constant  source  of  discomfort  and  ridi- 
cule. A  dozen  times  a  month  he  was  sure  to  be 
asked  why  he  was  called  "  Addenda,"  and  at 
school  was  reminded  by  some  classical  jester  that 
he  could  not  possibly  have  been  twins.  It  was 
worse  in  the  New  York  business  office  to  which 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  169 

he  went  when  a  lad.  As  he  grew  older  and 
changed  his  occupation  to  that  of  agent  for  estates, 
it  was  somewhat  better,  and  A.  Pennell  was  a  suffi- 
cient address  or  signature  ;  but  what  would  have 
had  little  effect  on  a  rougher  character  seriously 
affected  a  man  too  gentle  and  too  shy  to  endure 
without  annoyance  the  common  contacts  of  life. 
To  the  last  he  never  wrote  his  name  without  an- 
noyance and  an  eager  wish  that  people  were  left 
to  choose  names  for  themselves  at  the  age  of  ma- 
turity. This  natural  and  acquired  timidity  kept 
him  more  or  less  free  from  feminine  snares,  and, 
as  sentimental  as  a  girl,  he  lived  a  lonely  life 
among  his  books  and  his  business,  with  only  one 
other  engrossing  taste. 

"  Good-morning,  Miss  Olivia,"  he  said ;  "  but  it 
is  really  good-evening  I  meant.  Come  into  my 
parlor." 

Olivia  followed  him.  Her  surprise  and  amuse- 
ment as  she  entered  were  unbounded.  A  large 
room  suiTounded  with  low  book-cases  was  literally 
filled  with  clocks.  They  were  of  all  ages,  all  sizes, 
all  forms,  from  a  tiny  toy  on  the  window-sill  to  the 
tall  coffin-like  hall  clock  with  its  moon-phases  and 
crowning  figure  of  a  scythe-bearing  Time.  On  the 
mantel  were  exquisite  clocks  of  the  date  of  Ma- 
rie Antoinette,  and  on  the  book-cases  marvelous 
Dutch  time-pieces  with  mechanical  figures. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Pennell,  how  interesting !  "  exclaimed 
the  girl.  "  Where  did  you  get  them  all  ?  " 

He   carefully   lifted   an   old  clepsydra  from  a 


170  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

chair  which  he  dusted  with  a  red  silk  handker- 
chief. 

"But  I  cannot  sit  down,"  she  said,  in  reply  to 
his  invitation,  "  until  I  have  seen  them  all.  Why, 
they  are  all  going  !  " 

"  Yes,  they  're  alive,  Miss  Olivia,"  he  said,  with 
a  sidling  nod  automatically  expressive  of  his  sat- 
isfaction and  sense  of  interpretative  discovery  in 
clock-physiology. 

Olivia  quickly  understood  him.  She  would  some 
day  come  to  be  mistress  of  the  art  of  pleasing 
by  being  interested  ;  and  now  the  world  was  very 
fresh  to  her  and  there  were  few  things  that  were 
not  novel.  She  showed  that  beautiful  springtide 
of  delight  which  a  bright  young  girl,  long  shut 
out  from  life's  gayer  scenes,  exhibits.  Olivia 
looked  curiously  from  the  tall,  clean-shaven,  awk- 
ward man,  with  his  thin,  pale  cheeks,  to  the  clocks 
about  him.  She  had  the  power,  not  very  com- 
mon, of  seeing  the  agreeably  sentimental  aspect  of 
things  material.  It  was  not  absurd  to  her  that  he 
chose  to  have  his  clocks  alive. 

"  They  are  alive,"  she  repeated,  to  his  pleasure. 
He  felt  complimented,  and  began  to  run  about 
and  show  her  his  favorites. 

"  Now,  there  's  a  clock,  Miss  Olivia,  that  never 
fails  me.  You  can  always  trust  him.  That  clock 
has  a  conscience." 

"  Oh,  I  am  sure  it  has,"  said  Olive,  with  prompt 
enthusiasm. 

"  And  how  differently  they  talk  !  "    Indeed,  the 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  171 

click-cluck  and  tick-tack  made  a  queer  chorus. 
"  This  one  stutters,"  he  added.  "  But  now  they 
are  going  to  strike  four."  And  as  he  spoke,  they 
broke  out  all  around  her  in  tones  of  divers  char- 
acter, —  sweet,  clear,  harsh,  clamorous,  modestly 
faint,  —  while  Addenda  Pennell  stood  in  rapt  en- 
joyment. 

"  They  did  that  better  than  usual,"  he  said,  — 
"  all  but  that  silly  fool  in  the  corner.  She  's  al- 
ways a  little  slow." 

"  They  seem  to  you  like  friends,"  said  Olivia. 

"  Yes.  We  don't  appreciate  clocks.  They  are 
very  impartial.  They  are  good  counselors.  They 
never  want  to  lie.  And  then  they  are  very  inter- 
esting as  characters.  Now,  here  is  one  I  call  Ar- 
thur Wynne.  It 's  exactly  like  your  father.  You 
don't  mind  my  saying  it  is  like  your  father  ?  "  he 
added,  blushing,  and  twisting  his  hands,  of  which 
he  was  apt  to  become  seriously  conscious  when  em- 
barrassed. "  My  clocks  are  not  all  like  people. 
We  must  be  like  clocks  to  our  great  Maker,  Miss 
Olivia.  Now,  this  clock  is  old  English,  —  Wag- 
staff  e,  London.  It  is  honest  and  punctual,  but 
now  and  then  gets  crooked  and  has  crochets.  I 
just  let  it  alone,  and  it  comes  right  of  itself." 

"  That  reminds  me,"  said  the  girl,  "  to  ask  you 
something.  You  knew  my  father  well  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  I  did." 

"  What  did  he  die  of  ?  " 

"  Pneumonia,  I  believe.  Why  do  you  ask  that, 
my  dear?  There  was  some  brain-trouble,  too. 


172  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

You  know  his  affairs  were  in  great  confusion,  and 
he  was  much  depressed  in  mind  when  I  last  saw 
him.  He  greatly  overrated  the  idea  of  disgrace 
which  some  men  connect  with  bankruptcy." 

"  There  was  no  —  no  disgrace  ?  " 

"  None  whatsoever.  I  do  not  say  there  was  not 
neglect.  He  felt  that  very  keenly." 

"  I  see.  Poor  father !  "  And  she  stood  in 
grave  thought,  while  the  clocks  ticked  on  sol- 
emnly around  her. 

"  I  loved  him  well,  Miss  Olivia.  He  was  the 
gentlest  of  gentlemen.  He  —  he  was  the  only 
man  I  ever  knew  that  did  not  laugh  at  my  name." 

"  I  think  it  suits  you  nicely,"  said  Olivia,  and 
then,  in  a  sort  of  absent  way,  as  if  speaking  to 
herself,  "it  has  a  pleasant  softness  about  it, — 
Addenda." 

Pennell  would  have  liked  to  get  on  his  knees 
to  thank  her.  It  had  an  agreeable  sound  as  she 
spoke  it.  "Thank  you,"  he  said,  simply.  She 
had  him  for  a  vassal  thenceforward. 

"  I  have  been  altogether  forgetful  of  my  busi- 
ness, Mr.  Pennell.  I  shall  have  to  make  a  rather 
awkward  explanation ;  but  grandmamma  dislikes 
trouble,  and  perhaps  you  won't  approve ;  and  she 
thinks  so  much  of  your  judgment." 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

She  hesitated. 

"Well,  Miss  Olivia?" 

"  It  is  just  this :  Octopia  has  become  unendura- 
ble ;  and  I  must  go  away  somewhere.  I  can  bear 
it  no  longer." 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  173 

"  Let  us  sit  down,"  he  said.  "  This  is  serious. 
I  knew,  Miss  Olivia,  that  you  had  difficulties,  but 
I  also  know  that  Miss  Darnell  is  ill  and  wretched, 
and  at  times  feels  too  acutely  her  dependent  con- 
dition. When  your  father  was  dying,  no  nurse 
could  have  been  more  tender  than  she.  Let  me 
ask  you,  as  an  old  friend,  if  you  have  considered 
all  this?" 

"  I  have  tried  to  do  so ;  but  the  more  I  think 
about  it  the  more  I  see  I  can't  go  on  much  longer. 
If  I  am  altogether  wrong  I  had  better  be  away 
from  her." 

Pennell  was  on  both  sides  in  this  question. 
That  the  girl  was  unhappy  and  breaking  in  health 
was  quite  clear  to  him.  That  Octopia  Darnell, 
gentle,  sensitive,  gracious,  could  be  the  sole  cause 
of  this  misery  did  not  seem  to  him  possible. 

"  I  can't  understand  it,"  he  said.  "  Miss  Dar- 
nell has  the  highest  opinion  of  you.  I  scarcely 
ever  see  her  that  she  does  not  speak  of  your  kind- 
ness, of  your  unselfish  devotion  to  her;  and  you 
must  know  that  to  leave  abruptly  without  a  word 
of  warning  would  hurt  her  dreadfully.  Were  she 
rich  and  independent,  it  might  matter  less.  Think 
how  you  would  feel  if  you  were  placed  as  she  is." 

He  was  innocently  arguing  the  case  for  the 
side  on  which  his  heart  held  a  brief. 

Olivia  paused,  reflected,  and  at  last,  looking  at 
the  tall,  earnest  man,  who  had  quite  lost  his  shy- 
ness, said,  — 

"  I  don't  think  I  could  make  it  clear  to  you  with- 


174  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

out  trying  to  make  you  understand  my  cousin.  I 
hardly  know  how  to  do  it.  I  don't  want  to  make 
you  think  ill  of  her." 

"  Oh,  no,  no  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  There  are  good 
people  who  somehow  can't  live  together." 

"  Well,  she  and  I  must  be  two  of  those  good 
people,  Mr.  Pennell." 

Olivia  was  glad  of  this  exit  from  her  difficulty, 
and  went  on  more  easily.  "  No  matter  who  is 
wrong,  of  late  things  have  become  dreadful,  and 
— and  —  there  are  other  reasons.  I  have  per- 
suaded grandmamma  to  go  away  for  a  while.  If 
Cousin  Octopia  knows  where  we  have  gone,  she 
will  follow  us  at  once.  I  did  not  tell  grand- 
mamma, but  I  thought  that  if  you  would  not  let 
Miss  Darnell  know  where  we  are  for  a  few  weeks 
I  should  get  well  enough  to  go  on  again." 

"  I  don't  like  it,"  he  said.  "  It  is  not  the  kind 
of  thing  you  ought  to  do  or  I  ought  to  aid." 

"  Well,  I  am  sorry.  Then  we  will  go  alone. 
Go  we  must." 

"  But  you  can't  go  alone.  Imagine  Miss  Dar- 
nell asking  me  where  you  are."  He  foresaw  his 
intense  embarrassments. 

"  Then  help  us.     Do  as  I  say ;  give  me  three 

weeks  of  rest.     I  can't  go  on  as  things  are  ;  the 

V/  house   is  full   of   mysteries.     I  sometimes   think 

Octopia  frightens  grandmamma ;  and,  besides  "  — 

"Well,  what?  It  is  all  very  strange  to  me, 
—  very,  —  and  I  have  known  you  since  you  were 
a  child.  What  besides  ?  " 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  175 

"  I  cannot  tell  you.  If  you  do  not  say  '  yes,'  I 
will  go  alone,  —  somewhere,  anywhere,"  she  said, 
excitedly. 

He  began  to  understand  a  little,  and  perhaps 
also  did  not  quite  dislike  the  idea  of  Miss  Darnell 
cast  as  it  were  on  his  kindness  for  care  and  at- 
tention. He  would  promptly  have  rejected  the 
thought  that  this  aspect  of  the  case  in  any  way 
influenced  him ;  yet  it  did. 

"If  you  will  release  me  after  three  weeks,  I 
will  promise  what  you  wish.  I  must  say,  how- 
ever, that  I  think  it  childish  and  foolish." 

He  had  calculated  that  if,  as  usual,  Miss  Dar- 
nell should  be  absent  two  weeks,  he  would  not  be 
called  on  to  answer  save  for  the  week  to  follow, 
and  as  to  this  delays  were  possible.  He  said  he 
would  do  it. 

Then  she  rose.  Addenda  Pennell  would  keep 
his  word,  and  for  a  time  at  least  she  would  be 
free  from  care. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  and  told  him  their 
plans.  "  And  now,"  she  added,  smiling,  "  I  am 
a  naughty  clock.  Do  your  clocks  ever  want  to 
know?  " 

"They  are  friends  who  do  not  ask  questions." 

"  Only  one,"  she  returned,  —  "  only  one.  Is 
there  —  was  there  anything  wrong  about  my 
father's  illness  or  his  death  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  said  Pennell,  firmly,  as  he  walked 
away  towards  the  window.  There  are  lies  white, 
gray,  and  black ;  Pennell  had  told  her  one  which 


176  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

was  for  the  moment  golden  in  his  eyes.  His  rec- 
ognition of  the  color  of  untruths  was  for  a  moment 
blurred  by  a  stern  sense  of  necessity.  The  next 
minute  he  wished  he  had  not  lied. 

"  You  have  greatly  comforted  me,"  she  said, 
thanking  him  in  warm  words  with  an  honest  hand- 
grasp  and  a  face  which  did  the  errand  of  her  heart 
yet  more  graciously. 

As  she  turned  to  leave,  he  said,  — 

"  You  have  tried  me  very  sorely,  my  little 
woman,  moi'e  sorely  than  you  know  or  can  imag- 
ine." He  was  thinking  of  Octopia. 

"And  you  have  been  very  good  to  me,"  she 
said. 

"  And  bad  to  myself.  But  good-by.  Look  at 
that  old  Sevres  clock,  Miss  Olivia.  I  am  keeping 
it  as  a  wedding-present  for  a  friend  of  mine." 

"When  I  know  her  I  shall  tell  her  to  thank 
you."  And  she  laughed.  "  But  there  is  one 
awful  liar  among  your  clocks.  It  has  stopped  at 
eleven." 

"That  is  our  old  home  clock,"  he  answered, 
hastily.  "  It  stopped  —  I  stopped  it  at  a  certain 
hour  of  my  life  which  I  want  to  have  always 
recalled  to  me.  A  man  has  cruel  hours,  Miss 
Olivia,  which  yet  God  does  not  want  him  to  for- 
get. That  clock  always  reminds  me." 

"  How  strange  !  "  she  said. 

"  Your  father  was  very  good  to  me  in  that  dark 
hour  ;  I  have  never  forgotten  it.  I  ought  not  to 
have  mentioned  it ;  but  you  are  so  like  him,  it 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  177 

seems  to  me  as  if  it  were  one  way  of  thanking  him 
to  tell  you  how  good  he  was.  Let  it  be  a  little 
secret  for  us  two,"  and  he  smiled  sadly. 

"  Thank  you  again,"  she  said,  and  put  out  both 
hands,  and  so  went  away,  thoughtful  and  full  of 
wonder. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

"  Could  I  do  this  I  should  my  soul  defile. 
Thou  dost  forget  I  lore  thee  ;  Love  hath  dehto 
To  all  the  virtues.     He  who  loreth  thee 
Should  more  esteem  himself  that  he  doth  lore, 
And  double  guard  his  honor." 

THE  Iron  Wedding  of  the  States  was  over. 
For  good  or  for  ill,  they  were  one  again. 

The  Confederacy  had  collapsed.  Everywhere, 
with  the  coming  of  the  hopeful  buds  of  spring,  the 
gallant  soldiers  of  the  South  threw  down  their 
arms  and  returned  to  the  plough  and  the  planta- 
tion. During  May  and  June  the  work  of  muster- 
ing out  a  million  of  Northern  men  went  on 
rapidly. 

By  the  end  of  July  Blake  found  himself  a  free 
man,  and  a  little  later  his  friend  Francis  wrote  to 
him  that  he  too  was  out  of  service.  "  Before  you 
settle  to  any  work,"  he  said,  "  let  us  have  a  good 
holiday.  Come  to  Philadelphia  and  join  me.  We 
will  go  somewhere  and  be  idle  for  a  while  and  our 
own  masters.  I  am  sure  we  both  need  a  rest." 

This  note  went  to  Blake's  New  England  home, 
and  found  him,  late  in  August,  living  quietly  with 
his  aunt.  He  was  tired  of  the  red  tape  of  the 
muster-out,  and  still  not  quite  free  from  the  ma- 
laria he  had  acquired  on  the  Chickahominy.  He 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  179 

made  up  his  mind  to  join  his  friend ;  but  first 
there  was  something  on  his  mind  which  troubled 
him,  and  which,  as  he  reflected  about  it,  assumed 
for  him  the  force  of  a  duty.  He  asked  himself 
over  and  over  whether  he  was  in  any  way  bound 
to  protect  society  against  a  man  like  Darnell. 
Had  the  problem  remained  in  this  vague  form  he 
might  and  probably  would  have  rested  content  to 
do  nothing  and  to  say  nothing.  But  Francis's 
adventure  in  New  York,  while  it  merely  amused 
that  smiling  gentleman,  interested  and  excited 
Roland  Blake.  He  felt  himself  curiously  respon- 
sible for  the  rascal  who  had  tried  to  kill  him  and 
whose  life  he  had  saved.  To  some  extent  his 
tongue  was  tied ;  that,  at  least,  was  clear ;  but  it 
was  possible  to  say  something  without  breaking 
his  pledge.  Was  it  his  duty  to  say  it  ?  Was  he 
under  an  obligation  to  find  these  two  women,  who 
might  already  have  suffered  through  unavoidable 
delay,  and  warn  them  ? 

Being  a  young  man  still,  and  with  a  pleasant 
background  of  wholesome  chivalry  in  his  com- 
position, the  romance  of  the  matter  influenced 
him  far  more  than  he  knew.  He  tried  to  put 
aside  the  feeling  of  having  been  personally 
wronged,  but  no  doubt  it  also  had  a  share  in  his 
final  conviction  that  he  must  do  something. 

Action  was  never  far  behind  decision  with 
Blake,  and  in  a  few  hours  he  was  on  his  way  to 
New  York,  having  written  to  Francis  that  he 
would  join  him  towards  the  end  of  the  week. 


180  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

Thus  it  happened  that  two  persons  were  at  the 
same  time  equally  interested  in  finding  Mrs. 
Wynne  and  Olivia. 

Octopia's  brother  after  a  week's  absence  re- 
turned to  New  York,  and  found,  to  his  unbounded 
amazement,  that  his  cousins  had  left  without  a 
trace.  His  hasty  telegram  brought  back  Octopia 
with  but  small  delay. 

"  I  told  you  so,"  he  said.  "  It  was  pure  folly 
to  leave  them.  And  now  what  do  you  mean  to  do 
about  it  ?  "  Their  flight  more  than  anything  else 
made  him  believe  in  the  power  over  them  which 
Octopia  affected  to  possess,  but  the  value  of  which 
he  had  always  doubted. 

Judith  alone  was  delighed,  and  felt  the  grim 
satisfaction  of  the  man  who  has  lighted  the  fuse 
and  at  safe  distance  contemplates  the  conse- 
quences. 

Octopia  at  once  rose  to  better  health  and  large 
possibilities  of  action,  as  do  such  sick  persons  in 
the  presence  of  an  emergency  which  threatens 
their  comfort.  She  went  first  to  Mrs.  Wynne's 
rooms,  and  then  to  Olivia's.  Still  feeble,  she  wore 
herself  out  in  a  careful  search  for  some  evidence 
of  the  direction  of  their  flight.  No  trace  was  left. 
Mrs.  Wynne's  furniture  was  stored  in  an  attic, 
and  was  to  remain,  Octopia  learned,  until  re- 
claimed. 

At  last,  exhausted,  Miss  Darnell  sank  upon  a 
lounge  and  for  the  tenth  time  read  the  note  from 
Mrs.  Wynne  which  was  handed  to  her  on  her 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  181 

return.  When  first  she  saw  that  it  was  in  Oli- 
via's handwriting  it  annoyed  her,  and  now  that 
it  became  clear  that  their  flight  had  been  well 
managed  and  with  decision  and  skill,  the  annoy- 
ance gave  place  to  a  storm  of  resentment.  She 
saw  in  the  firm  lines  of  the  letter  something  which 
dangerously  lifted  her  anger  into  the  region  of 
criminal  possibilities.  Her  long  dream  of  power 
was  over,  her  hold  on  the  girl  lost.  To  realize 
the  extent  of  her  own  failure  to  read  Olivia  cor- 
rectly was  intolerable  to  her  self-esteem. 

For  a  moment  all  the  disappointments  of  a  life 
rose  and  smote  her  with  the  scourges  of  bitter 
memories.  A  foolish,  willful  desire  to  show  her 
power  had  lost  her  long  years  back  a  good  man's 
love.  "  And  I  loved  him  so  !  I  loved  him  so  !  " 
she  murmured,  twisting  the  paper  in  her  hands, 
"  and  Dick  is  like  —  so  like  him  !  Oh,  there  are 
times  when  Dick's  eyes  kill  me !  But  he  was 
better  than  poor  Dick,"  she  added,  remembering 
the  waste  of  his  money  and  her  own,  the  wild 
squandering,  the  gambling  and  ruin,  with  her 
gradual  failure  of  health.  Then  at  last  she  re- 
called how  she  had  come  at  Arthur  Wynne's  call, 
how  well  she  had  cared  for  him  and  his.  "And 
they  never  realized  what  I  did.  Why  have  they 
left  me  ?  I  only  helped  her  do  for  me  what 
gratitude  ought  to  have  taught  her  to  do.  They 
have  been  mean  !  —  mean  !  " 

She  felt  that  now  she  could  and  would  be  cruel. 
The  engineer  speaks  of  the  breaking-strain  in 


182  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

material :  the  breaking-strain  in  morals  was  near 
for  Octopia. 

She  sat  down  and  reflected  quietly ;  then  a 
smile  lit  up  her  face,  and  she  went  to  find  her 
brother.  She  told  him  that  her  note  informed 
her  that  the  rooms  were  hers  for  three  months  to 
come,  and  that  she  had  a  little  over  five  thousand 
dollars  laid  by,  —  a  fact  which  both  surprised  and 
consoled  him.  Then,  with  unusual  energy,  she 
explained  to  him  that  he  was  to  take  certain  steps 
to  find  out  the  whereabouts  of  Mrs.  Wynne,  and 
at  last  wrote  a  note  to  Mr.  Pennell,  which  she 
desired  Darnell  to  mail  at  once. 

The  day  after  was  one  which  poor  Judith  long 
remembered. 

At  eleven  she  was  called  on  to  assist  at  the  first 
elaborate  toilet  she  had  seen  Octopia  make  for 
years. 

At  lunch  Miss  Darnell  took,  what  was  unusual 
for  her,  a  little  wine,  and  then  went  down  to 
await  Addenda  Pennell.  He  came  shyly  into  the 
room,  dressed,  as  Octopia  saw,  with  singular  care, 
a  rose  in  his  button-hole.  He  would  have  liked 
to  stay  away,  knowing  and  fearing  the  trial  before 
him,  but  the  temptation  was  too  great  for  him. 
A  plain  man  with  poetic  instincts,  he  admired  the 
grace  and  elegance  of  Octopia  and  her  ease  of 
manner.  He  had  known  her  as  a  trial  to  other 
women,  but  while  in  a  large-hearted  kindness  of 
judgment  he  had  believed  that  to  an  irritable  old 
lady  and  an  inexperienced  girl  she  might  be  a 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  183 

weariness,  he  felt  that,  to  one  who  loved  her,  much 
might  be  possible.  He  felt  that  she  had  not  al- 
ways been  as  just  and  tender  to  Mrs.  Wynne  as 
she  might  have  been  if  well ;  but  there  was  that 
in  his  own  life  which  filled  him  with  pitying  hope 
for  all  who  had  strayed  from  the  way  which  is 
narrow  ;  and,  above  all,  he  loved  her,  —  loved  her 
with  a  force  which  the  mild  scorn  with  which  she 
always  treated  him  did  not  prevent  him  from  ex- 
cusing out  of  the  depths  of  his  own  remarkable 
sense  of  humble  self-depreciation. 

As  he  advanced  he  saw  with  pleasure  the  long, 
lithe  figure,  the  nervous,  drooping  hands,  the  small 
thin  foot  neatly  slippered,  the  languid  eyes,  and 
the  well-modeled  lips  now  smiling  a  welcome. 

"  I  am  punctual,  I  think,  Miss  Darnell.  I  sus- 
pect that  your  clock  is  wrong.  How  glad  I  am  to 
see  you  looking  so  very  much  better !  " 

"  I  am  better,"  she  said.  "  Even  a  week  at 
Richfield  helps  me.  I  have  sent  for  you,  as  my 
only  friend,  to  ask  your  help.  You  know  what 
I  did  for  my  cousins ;  you  know  that  in  their  ser- 
vice I  made  myself  the  mere  wreck  I  am ;  and 
now  you  know  —  I  suppose  you  know  —  why  I 
want  you." 

Addenda  Pennell  felt  weak  and  a  little  alarmed. 
He  had  stood  at  first,  but  while  she  was  speaking 
he  was  glad  to  sit  down.  Then  as  she  went  on  he 
brushed  his  hat  with  one  hand. 

"  You  have  never  failed  me,"  she  said.  She 
put  out  her  long  pale  hand  to  him.  He  took  it. 


184  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"  I  am  alone  now,"  she  added,  softly.  "  They 
have  left  me.  Tell  me  where  they  are." 

He  looked  at  her  wistfully  and  sadly.  "  I  can- 
not," he  said. 

Octopia  withdrew  her  hand.  "And  why  can 
you  not?" 

"  Because  it  would  not  be  right.  I  made  a  fool- 
ish promise  not  to  say  where  they  have  gone.  In 
ten  days  I  can  tell  you.  You,  of  all  women,  would 
not  wish  me  to  break  my  word  ?  " 

"  But  it  is  perfectly  absurd." 

"Yes,  I  know  that.  You  can't  put  it  too 
strongly." 

"  And  it  is  of  them  I  think,  more  than  of  my- 
self." 

"I  am  sure  that  you  try  always  to  think  of 
others  first." 

"  Olive  is  unfit  to  take  care  of  her  grandmother ; 
I  have  seen  enough  in  the  past  to  be  sure  of  that, 
and  a  man  of  your  age,  or  rather  of  your  judg- 
ment, must  know  this  as  well  as  I  do.  She  is 
hasty  and  ill-tempered,  and  not  as  thoughtful  as 
one  could  wish.  Of  course  you,  who  did  not  live 
with  them,  cannot  be  expected  to  realize  all  this 
as  I  do.  Now,  as  a  rational  being,  do  you  not  see 
that  I  am  right?" 

"  It  may  be  —  I  —  I  dare  say  you  may  be  cor- 
rect ;  but  what  can  I  do  ?  " 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  her  head  drooping  as  if  in  de. 
spair,  "  if  only  there  were  any  one  I  could  turn 
to!  There  are  none !  —  none  !  Have  you  no  pity 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  185 

for  me,  who  am  left  by  a  girl's  whim  stranded,  a 
sick,  suffering  woman  ?  Mrs.  Wynne  never  could 
have  meant  both  to  hurt  and  insult  me.  If  I 
could  see  her  a  moment  she  would  surely  say  so." 

"  Let  me  help  you,  Miss  Darnell.  You  must 
know  I  would  do  anything  to  help  you  but  this. 
It  —  it  —  you  won't  mind  my  saying  that  it  hurts 
me  to  think  you  want  to  tempt  me,  even  in  so 
small  a  matter,  to  do  what  I  do  not  think  right." 

"  It  is  not  wrong." 

"Yes,"  he  returned,  mournfully,  "it  is  wrong. 
I  cannot  do  it,  —  not  even  for  you." 

"And  how,  then,  do  you  propose  to  help  me? 
Your  friendship  seems  to  me  of  little  value." 

"  If  —  if  you  could  let  me  "  — 

Octopia  understood  him,  with  a  woman's  quick 
perception.  His  increasing  embarrassment  left 
her  in  no  doubt.  It  was  not  the  first  time  he  had 
put  his  heart  in  her  power.  She  knew  that  he 
was  rich  and  kind,  and  that  he  loved  her;  she 
was  poor,  weak,  and  relied  little  on  her  brother 
for  any  continuity  of  care,  and  he  too  had  noth- 
ing. But,  despite  his  faults,  he  had  been  her  one 
constant  attachment,  her  ideal  of  a  brave,  reckless 
gentleman.  To  him  she  could  not  be  treacherous 
or  indifferent,  and  she  believed  that  she  could  yet 
overcome  her  cousin's  opposition,  which,  in  the 
remembrance  of  constant  victories,  she  underesti- 
mated. 

She  rose  to  her  feet.  "  You  are  very  good  to 
me,"  she  said.  "I  do  not  profess  to  misunder- 


186  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

stand  you,  and  I  thank  you,  —  as  a  lonely,  sad, 
feeble  woman,  I  thank  you.  But  I  am  unfit  to 
win  any  man's  love.  I  am  a  burden  to  myself. 
I  could  not  willingly  let  another  share  my  weari- 


"  But  you  do  not  know  me.  I  have  had  no  one 
to  love  since  I  was  a  boy.  My  heart  is  empty ; 
come  and  fill  it.  Ah,  I  should  care  well  for  you." 

She  began  to  realize  the  depth  and  gentleness 
of  the  man,  and  was  touched  by  them. 

"  I  am  not  young,"  she  said.  "  And  I  cannot 
say  that  I  love  you." 

"I  would  not  wish  you  to  say  that  if  you  do 
not  feel  it;  but,  with  God's  help,  I  might  hope 
that  you  would." 

Octopia  was  thoroughly  moved.  All  power 
pleased  her;  all  affection  was  grateful.  For  a 
moment  she  hesitated ;  then  she  said,  — 

"  If  I  knew  where  they  were,  I  should  be  easier 
in  mind.  I  cannot  think  now;  I  cannot  decide. 
Oh,  if  I  knew,  everything  might  be  easy,  every- 
thing "  —  and  she  paused. 

Her  lover  had  risen  when  she  rose ;  now  he  fell 
back  and  looked  at  her,  an  awful  sadness  in  his 
simple,  honest  heart. 

"  I  don't  think  I  quite  understand  you.  You 
cannot  mean  to  bribe  me  to  do  what  is  wrong  in 
my  sight?  Forgive  me  for  thinking  it.  You 
can't  mean  that?" 

"  I  mean  if  you  love  me  you  will  tell  me,"  she 
cried,  passionately. 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  187 

"  My  God  ! "  he  said.  His  head  dropped,  his 
hands  fell  at  his  side.  "  Good-by,"  he  added,  and 
deliberately,  like  an  automaton,  walked  out  of 
the  room. 

Left  alone  with  her  motives,  she  could  not  get 
away  from  the  remembrance  that  Pennell  was  a 
man  of  low  birth.  What  Dick  would  think  was 
always  with  her.  If  she  had  loved  Pennell,  all 
this  would  have  been  trivial,  because  when  she 
wanted  anything  she  ceased  to  see  obstacles.  But 
she  did  not  care  for  him,  and  only  felt  as  fit  and 
agreeable,  and  yet  a  little  absurd,  his  desire  to 
win  her.  If  only  Dick  could  marry  Olive  there 
would  be  no  need  to  think  further  of  Pennell. 
And  yet  how  kind  he  was,  and  Dick  at  times  of 
late  how  hard ! 

In  the  entry,  at  the  hall  door,  Pennell  became 
aware  that  he  had  left  his  hat  in  the  drawing- 
room.  Reluctantly  he  went  back.  Octopia  was 
seated,  her  face  in  her  hands,  crying.  He  took 
his  hat  from  the  chair. 

"  Miss  Darnell,"  he  said,  "  won't  you  "  — 

Without  looking  up,  she  raised  a  hand  and 
motioned  him  to  be  gone.  Then  she  heard  the 
hall  door  close.  She  was  alone. 

Men  make  thoughtful  sacrifices  of  self;  in 
/  women  self-devotion  has  the  strength  and  autom- 
atism of  an  instinct. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

"  How  all  we  perceive  and  know  in  it 
Tends  to  some  moment's  product  thus, 
When  a  soul  declares  itself  —  to  wit, 
By  its  fruit,  the  thing  it  does !  " 

OCTOPIA  was  cheating  herself  with  the  idea 
that  for  the  sake  of  Richard  Darnell  she  had  put 
aside  wealth  and  insurance  of  home  and  comfort 
and  an  honest  love.  She  sat  up  and  smiled  and 
was  pleased  with  herself  because  she  had  done  it, 
and  wondered  if  Dick  would  have  liked  her  to 
marry  Mr.  Pennell.  Pride  of  birth  was  strong  in 
both  sister  and  brother,  and  as  they  had  fallen  in 
the  world  it  became  yet  more  distinct,  —  a  posses- 
sion of  which  no  adversity  could  deprive  them. 
They  were  Darnells,  whatever  happened. 

The  woman  reflected,  as  women  not  young  some- 
times do,  as  to  what  motives  had  influenced  the 
love  just  laid  at  her  feet.  It  seemed  to  her  nat- 
ural that  an  unknown  Yankee  estate-agent  should 
wish  to  marry  a  woman  of  assured  social  place  ; 
but  what  else  ? 

She  had  been  seated,  clasping  her  knees  and 
looking  as  if  into  distance  —  an  interesting  face 
and  figure.  The  last  reflection  took  her  to  the 
mirror  between  the  windows.  Yes,  she  was  surely 
a  woman  not  to  be  passed  by  without  notice.  With 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  189 

her  recent  shock  of  discovery  that  her  victims 
had  fled,  some  of  her  former  energy  had  come 
back.  Vigorous  motives  for  action  had  been,  as 
usual,  potent  moral  tonics,  and  had  influenced  no 
less  her  physical  condition.  She  smiled  to  see 
that  she  was  not  so  thin  as  formerly,  and  that 
there  was  more  color  in  her  cheeks.  There  were 
still  reasons  why  men  should  admire  her,  and  there- 
fore why  Pennell  might. 

She  thought  of  the  tall,  stooping  man,  with  his 
shy  ways,  and  then  of  Olivia  addressing  a  letter 
to  her  as  Mrs.  Addenda  Pennell. 

"  Ah,  Dick ! "  she  said,  looking  round  at  her 
brother,  who  had  just  entered  the  room.  "  Have 
you  any  news  ?  How  ridiculous  it  was  for  those 
two  geese  to  fly  away  so  mysteriously !  " 

"  Nonsense,  Octy  !  "  said  he  :  "  don't  do  any  of 
your  little  dramatic  performances  for  me.  You 
want  to  find  them  for  reasons  of  your  own.  I 
must  find  that  girl;  I  will  find  her,  too.  She 
shall  marry  me  if  man  can  compass  it." 

"  Or  woman  either,  Dick.  Be  sure  that  what 
I  want  most  is  to  help  you ;  and,"  she  added,  with 
confident  pride,  "  I  can  help  you  ;  I  know  I  can." 

"You  are  very  good,  Octy,  but  just  now  it  does 
not  seem  very  clear ;  I  really  can't  understand 
Olivia.  What  did  Pennell  say  ?  Queer  old  Yan- 
kee, is  n't  he?" 

"  He  knows,  but  will  not  tell  me  anything.  I 
really  did  my  best." 

"  Well,  what  else  ?  " 


190  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"  Oh,  you  will  laugh." 

•*  Why,  what  is  there  to  laugh  at  ?  I  feel  con- 
foundedly  little  like  laughing." 

"  He  wants  to  marry  me,  Dick." 

"  Not  really  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  Octopia,  annoyed. 

"  Oh,  nothing." 

"  Then  why  did  you  speak  as  you  did  ?  " 

"  I  was  thinking  it  was  strange  that  a  woman 
like  you  could  not  get  out  of  a  man  like  that,  who 
wants  you  to  marry  him,  so  small  a  secret  as  where 
two  foolish  women  have  gone  for  a  holiday." 

"  I  did  my  best,  brother,"  she  returned,  grow- 
ing pale  as  she  spoke.  "The  man  is  a  good  man." 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say.     But  what  did  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  said  « no.'  " 

"  Why  did  you  say  'no,'  if  he  is,  as  you  say,  so 
good,  and  if,  as  I  hear,  he  is  good  as  to  his  bank- 
account?  " 

She  looked  at  him  curiously,  the  little  muscles 
about  her  chin  twitching.  "  He  would  not  tell  me 
what  I  wanted  to  know." 

"  But  suppose  you  had  said  '  yes.'  Men  are 
great  fools,  Octy." 

He  knew  well  how  often  a  false  love  had  shorn 
the  locks  of  honesty  or  honor. 

She  was  silent,  and  for  a  moment  could  not  tell 
just  why  the  proposition  shocked  her  more  than 
what  she  had  herself  meant  to  do.  It  was,  in 
truth,  because  the  idea  came  from  her  brother, 
whom  she  was  forever  struggling  to  preserve  as 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  191 

her  ideal  gentleman.  He,  in  his  passion  of  disap- 
pointed love,  was  getting  recklessly  careless  of  her 
opinion. 

"  Do  you  forget  that  we  are  Darnells,  Dick  ?  " 
she  said. 

"  By  George,  Octy,  I  thought  you  had  more 
sense !  Whether  you  go  so  far  as  to  marry  him 
or  not  is  a  question  for  the  future." 

Octopia  sat  down,  an  awful  consciousness  of 
her  brother's  selfishness  ruthlessly  confronting  her. 
"  I  don't  think  I  could  do  it,  Dick." 

"  Then  you  are  a  bigger  fool  than  I  took  you 
to  be,"  he  answered,  roughly. 

"Oh,  Dick!  — brother!" 

"  Well,  I  don't  mean  all  I  say,  Octy."  And 
with  this  he  sat  down  and  kissed  her  cheek.  He 
knew  well  how  much  she  liked  demonstrative 
affection,  and  that  she  could  not  be  angry  very 
long  with  him. 

At  last  he  stood  up  and  said  he  had  spoken 
hastily ;  he  would  leave  her  to  do  as  seemed  best 
to  her,  and  added  that  she  was  getting  her  old 
looks  back.  Then  she  too  rose  wearily,  and  said 
there  was  no  hurry  about  finding  out  where  Mrs. 
Wynne  was,  and  that  something  would  turn  up; 
upon  which  he  kissed  her  again  and  went  out. 

Already  she  missed  Olivia.  Now  there  was  no 
one  on  whose  little  charities  she  could  call,  no  one 
whom  she  could  drag  within  the  morbid  circle  of 
her  own  demands  for  sympathy.  She  felt  the  re- 
sults of  her  talk  with  Pennell  and  with  her  brother 


192  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

in  an  attack  of  intense  fatigue  of  mind  and  body 
and  in  a  desire  to  give  way  to  one  of  her  volcanic 
emotional  explosions.  Having  no  one  to  summon 
as  audience,  she  controlled  herself;  but  a  fierce 
feeling  of  having  been  wronged  arose  in  her  mind, 
and  the  demon  of  wrath  at  last  expelled  all  his 
lesser  brethren  and  remained  in  sullen  possession. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

"  I  had  not  stayed  so  long  to  tell  you  all, 
But  while  I  mused  came  Memory  with  sad  eyes, 
Holding  the  folded  annals  of  my  youth." 

ADDENDA  PENNELL  went  down  Fifth  Avenue 
a  thoughtful  man.  Once  his  name  on  a  house  to 
let  or  sell  here  or  there  had  given  him  a  sense  of 
business  pride  ;  but  that  day  had  gone  by ;  his 
clerks  looked  after  these  smaller  matters. 

A  life  of  absolute  honesty  and  of  great  accuracy 
and  tranquil  judgment  in  real  estate  had  made 
him  rich  and  trusted.  He  was  away  from  it  all 
and  in  his  other  life  as  he  walked  down  the  ave- 
nue. He  had  long  thought  about  Miss  Darnell 
as  of  a  woman  suffering  and  graceful  and  refined ; 
as  of  one  poor  and  dependent  yet  proud  and  sensi- 
tive. She  would  have  been  surprised  could  she 
have  known  that  her  social  position  made  no  ap- 
peal to  him.  His  embarrassments  were  personal, 
and  no  mere  class  distinctions  would  have  empha- 
sized them.  He  had  the  best  New  England  sim- 
plicity as  to  these  matters,  and  had  reached  the 
true  American  ideal  of  belief  that  the  form  of 
labor  does  not  degrade. 

Presently  he  nearly  ran  against  a  young  man, 
who  excused  himself  and  went  on  his  way. 
Something  about  him  attracted  PennelU  and,  look- 


194  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

ing  back,  he  saw  him  go  up  the  steps  of  the  house 
Pennell  had  left. 

A  few  moments  later  Roland  Blake  stood  in  the 
entry.  He  took  out  a  card,  asking  if  Mrs.  Wynne 
were  at  home.  The  servant  replied  that  Mrs. 
Wynne  and  her  daughter  had  gone  to  the  coun- 
try ;  he  did  not  know  where  they  were  ;  but  Miss 
Darnell  was  in  the  parlor,  perhaps  she  could  tell 
him.  The  name  struck  the  visitor  with  surprise. 
Then  he  hesitated,  but  at  last  gave  the  servant  a 
card,  saying,  — 

"  Ask  Miss  Darnell  if  she  will  see  me." 

In  a  moment  the  man  came  back,  and,  throw- 
ing open  the  door,  drew  back  as  Blake  went  in. 

Octopia  was  standing  with  his  card  in  her  hand. 

"  Miss  Darnell,  I  believe,"  he  said. 

"  I  am  Miss  Darnell.  To  what  do  I  owe  the 
honor  of  this  visit  ?  "  There  was  a  faintly  disa- 
greeable tone  in  her  mannered  speech  which 
Blake  could  not  understand,  but  which  was  due 
to  the  fact  that  she  was  already  in  an  irritable 
mood  and  that  he  was  a  Northern  officer. 

She  did  not  ask  him  to  sit  down,  and  as  she 
stood,  her  face  struck  him  as  having  something 
foreign  and  peculiar  in  its  lineaments. 

"  I  have  called,"  he  said,  "  to  learn  where  I 
could  find  Mrs.  Wynne." 

"  May  I  ask  what  is  your  business  with  my 
cousin  ?  She  is  out  of  town." 

"So  I  have  just  heard.  Will  you  kindly  tell 
me  where  I  can  find  her  ?  As  to  my  business,  you 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  195 

will  pardon  me  if  I  say  that  it  is  of  a  personal 
nature." 

"Indeed!"  Octopia  began  to  be  interested. 
"  She  is  a  very  old  lady,  a  really  aged  woman ; 
and,  as  I  am  almost  her  only  relative,  I  shall  be 
glad  to  be  the  means  of  letting  her  know  what- 
ever you  may  wish  to  say." 

"  I  scarcely  think  I  can  delegate  my  business. 
Would  you  kindly  give  me  her  address  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  it  at  present." 

"  Then  I  am  sorry  to  have  troubled  you.  Good- 
morning." 

"  Good-morning,"  she  returned,  coldly. 

He  went  out  with  a  vague  impression  that  it 
was  rather  odd  that  this  woman  with  the  graceful, 
languid  air  and  interesting  face  should  know  so 
little  of  her  cousin's  whereabouts.  After  leaving 
the  house  he  thought  a  moment,  and,  returning, 
rang  the  bell. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  said  to  the  servant,  "  any 
one  who  can  tell  me  where  I  can  find  Mrs. 
"Wynne  ?  Miss  Darnell  cannot  tell  me.  Is  there 
any  one  else  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Pennell  might  know,  sir." 

"  And  who  is  he  ?  where  does  he  live  ?  " 

"He  is  some  kind  of  business-man  for  Mrs. 
Wynne.  I  don't  know  where  he  lives  ;  but  I  can 
ask  Miss  Darnell." 

"  No ;  it  is  of  no  moment.  Pennell  —  Pennell. 
Thank  you." 

With  an  unusual  name  and  a  partial  knowledge 


196  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

of  its  owner's  occupation,  it  was  easy  enough  to 
find  Mr.  Pennell. 

When  Richard  Darnell  saw  Blake's  card  on 
the  table  he  expressed  his  regret  at  having  missed 
him,  and  was  Octopia  sure  he  had  not  mentioned 
her  brother  ?  The  visit  puzzled  them  both. 

Passing  the  clerks  and  their  desks,  Blake  was 
shown  into  Mr.  Pennell's  railed-off  inclosure  at  the 
back  of  the  real-estate  office.  He  was  at  his  desk, 
and  surrounded  by  papers.  Instead  of  speaking 
to  the  new-comer  from  his  seat,  after  the  fashion 
of  American  commercial  manners,  Pennell  rose, 
and,  looking  from  the  young  man's  card  to  his 
brown  face  with  its  pleasant  serenity  of  expression 
and  its  strength  of  feature,  was  agreeably  im- 
pressed. 

"  Major  Blake,"  he  said,—  "  Third  New  Hamp- 
shire Volunteers,  I  see  by  your  card.  Why,  that 's 
my  State,  major  ;  and  the  Third  was  raised  down 
Portsmouth  way.  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  Sit 
down." 

The  war  and  all  its  soldiers  were  sources  of 
enthusiastic  admiration  to  Pennell,  and  now  he 
quite  forgot  his  shyness  in  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
an  officer  with  whose  belongings  he  felt  some 
familiarity. 

"  Are  you,  too,  Portsmouth-born  ?  "  inquired 
Blake. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  I  am  glad  to  say  I  am,  born  and 
bred,  and  my  father  before  me.  I  don't  think  I 
ever  would  have  got  away  from  there  if  it  had  n't 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  197 

been  that  no  man  but  my  father  could  make  a 
comfortable  shoe  for  Arthur  Wynne." 

Blake  was  attracted  by  the  combination  of  em- 
barrassment of  manner  and  simple  frankness  of 
speech.  Men's  careers  and  their  biographies  in- 
terested him  always,  and  he  saw,  too,  that  the 
agent  found  pleasure  in  the  remembrance  of  the 
old  town.  "  I  was  stupid  not  to  recall  your  name 
as  familiar,"  said  he.  "  But  I  have  seen  little  of 
the  good  old  place  for  some  years." 

"  You  might  remember  my  uncle,  major.  He 
has  father's  shop  still.  I  might  have  been  hap- 
pier to-day  over  my  last,  thinking,  and  looking  out 
at  the  bee-hives  in  the  apple-orchard.  The  rain- 
butt  was  right  under  the  window  where  I  used  to 
cut  out  uppers ;  I  fell  into  it  once  when  I  was  a 
little  chap." 

Then  Pennell  reddened  as  he  looked  around 
him  at  the  clerks  and  reflected  with  a  trace  of 
annoyance  that  he  was  becoming  biographical. 
"  I  beg  pardon,"  he  added,  "  I  was  so  glad  to  see 
a  Portsmouth  man  and  a  soldier  that  I  have  kept 
you  standing  while  I  talked  about  myself.  Sit 
down.  Pray,  what  can  I  do  for  you,  major  ? " 
He  felt  a  gentle  partner-like  ownership  in  the  title. 

"  I  certainly  have  a  little,  a  very  little,  matter 
to  ask  about,  but  you  won't  mind  if  I  say  that 
you  left  off  with  the  rain-butt.  You  spoke  of  Mr. 
Wynne." 

"  Yes ;  I  used  to  take  the  shoes  home,  and  as 
the  Wynnes  lived  near  Boar's  Head  in  summer, 


198  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

it  was  a  good  seven-mile  tramp.  Somehow,  Mr, 
Wynne  took  a  fancy  to  me  ;  you  can't  explain 
those  things,  you  know.  The  end  was,  he  brought 
Brother  Joe  and  me  up  to  the  works  near  New- 
ark." Then  Addenda  paused.  "  That  man  was 
inconceivably  kind  to  me  and  Joe,  and  just ;  no 
man  was  ever  so  just."  Some  unrevealed  mem- 
ory of  a  distant  past  evidently  had  him  in  its  grip. 
He  turned  from  it  abruptly. 

«•  However,  here  I  am,  and  at  your  disposal." 

"I  am  really  obliged  to  you.  I  am  a  young 
man,  with  my  own  way  to  make,  and  what  you 
were  good  enough  to  tell  me  makes  success  seem 
more  possible.  Just  now  it  is  like  a  real  help. 
You  see,  sir,  I  have  lost  four  years  in  the  war  "  — 

"  No,  sir !  you  have  gained  four.  I  would  give 
a  good  bit  of  the  end  of  life  to  have  had  those 
four  years  of  yours." 

"  You  are  quite  right,"  returned  Blake,  "  and  I 
was  wrong.  I  know  that  the  war  has  helped  me 
in  many  ways.  Even  the  steady  discipline  was,  I 
can  see,  of  use  to  many  of  us  young  Yankees.  It 
was  pretty  hard,  though,  sometimes." 

"  Who  nobly  serves  is  master,"  said  the  agent, 
and  then  became  suddenly  ill  at  ease,  as  he  al- 
ways was  when  a  bit  of  the  poetry  of  his  inner  life 
slipped  out  among  his  commercial  surroundings. 

His  visitor  did  not  show  the  surprise  he  felt,  as 
he  glanced  at  the  pleasant  face,  and  then  at  the 
desks,  and  the  clerks,  and  the  people  coming  arid 
going,  and  the  litter  of  bills  and  posters,  and  all 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  199 

the  other  evidences  of  active  business  prosperity 
and  mercantile  method. 

Pennell  instantly  added,  "But  I  am  keeping 
you,  —  and  myself  too,  I  may  say.  Now  for  busi- 
ness. What  is  it  ?  " 

Blake  had  at  first  meant  merely  to  ask  for  Mrs. 
Wynne's  address  ;  but  what  he  had  seen  of  Mr. 
Pennell  somewhat  enlarged  his  views  as  to  that 
which  it  might  be  well  to  say  in  case  of  difficulty 
in  coming  into  closer  relation  with  that  lady. 

He  looked  about  him.  "  Could  we  talk  more 
in  private  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Certainly.     Come  up-stairs." 

And  so  it  chanced  that  presently  Blake  stood 
among  the  clocks,  as  Olivia  had  done  some  two 
weeks  before.  "  What  a  quaint  nature  this  must 
be  !  "  thought  he. 

"Is  our  talk  to  be  a  long  one,  major?  " 

"  I  can  hardly  say.  That  depends  on  circum- 
stances." 

"  Then  will  you  excuse  me  for  five  or  ten  min- 
utes ?  After  that  I  am  at  your  disposal." 

Blake  said  he  had  nothing  to  do,  and  begged 
his  host  not  to  hurry  himself.  Then  Pennell  said, 
"  There  are  the  papers,"  and  went  out  of  the 
room. 

Blake  glanced  around  at  the  clocks,  big  and 
little,  with  vast  amusement  at  their  exactness  of 
statement  as  to  the  hour,  and  presently  began  to 
look  for  the  times  of  departure  of  the  Philadelphia 
trains.  The  "  Herald "  he  turned  over  was  dis- 


200  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

figured  by  having  two  or  three  slips  cut  out  of  the 
columns.  A  duplicate  copy  lay  beside  him  on  the 
table,  and  after  satisfying  himself  as  to  the  trains, 
he  chanced  to  notice  in  the  unmutilated  journal 
that  the  slips  cut  out  were  records  of  small  com- 
mercial failures  or  of  defalcations  and  breaches  of 
trust  on  the  part  of  clerks  or  petty  bank-officers. 
The  "  Heralds  "  and  "  Tribunes  "  were  of  various 
recent  dates,  but  all  had  been  used  in  the  same 
manner.  Whoever  had  made  the  selections 
seemed  to  have  had  a  mania  for  collecting  records 
of  such  minor  offenses  as  those  just  mentioned. 
It  certainly  seemed  to  Roland  Blake  a  very  mor- 
bid taste,  and  one  which  did  not  look  natural  in  so 
business-like  and  simple  a  being  as  Pennell. 

His  cogitations  were  arrested  by  the  return  of 
the  agent,  who  said,  — 

"  Now,  major,  I  am  free  for  a  half  hour/' 

"My  errand  may  be  a  very  easy  one.  You 
mentioned  the  name  of  Mr.  Wynne  while  we  were 
talking  down-stairs.  What  I  want  is  to  know 
where  I  can  find  Mrs.  Wynne." 

"  His  mother,  I  suppose  you  mean.  His  wife 
is  dead  and  he  is  dead.  Mrs.  Wynne  is  away  in 
the  country." 

He  saw  no  reason  why  he  should  not  say  where 
she  was,  but  his  natural  caution  in  all  transactions 
returned  when  Roland  Blake  replied,  — 

'*  Yes ;  I  learned  at  their  house  from  Miss  Dar- 
nell that  Mrs.  Wynne  was  absent,  and  that  Miss 
Darnell  did  not  know  where  she  was.  The  ser- 
vant referred  me  to  you," 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  201 

"  You  knew  Miss  Darnell,  then  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Blake,  "  I  did  not." 

He  wondered  why  Pennell  should  have  asked 
him  this,  and  began  to  feel  puzzled.  That  the 
agent  spoke  with  a  shade  of  reluctance  was  plain. 

"  You  will  think  it  odd,"  said  Pennell,  "  if  I  ask 
you  why  you  want  to  see  Mrs.  Wynne.  She  is 
a  very  aged  woman,  and  I  have  long  been  her  ad- 
viser and  agent.  In  any  business  matter  I  am  the 
proper  person  to  talk  to." 

"  But  it  is  not  a  business  matter ;  it  is  alto- 
gether personal,  and,  I  may  as  well  say,  of  such 
a  nature  as  makes  me  a  little  undecided  as  to 
whether  I  am  wise  to  do  what  it  seems  to  me  my 
duty  to  do." 

"You  must  see,  major,  that  you  put  me  in  a 
rather  awkward  position." 

"  I  confess  I  do  not  see  that." 

"Mrs.  Wynne  is  away  with  Miss  Olivia,  and  de- 
sires no  one  to  know  where  she  has  gone.  That 
may  seem  strange  to  you  ;  but  I  think  best  to  say 
so.  As  to  her  motives  for  this  I  need  add  noth- 
ing:  it  is  a  family  affair.  Cannot  you  make  it 
easier  for  me  in  some  way  ?  " 

Blake  hesitated.  "  What  I  have  to  say  to  her 
may  be  of  no  moment,  or  it  may  be  of  invaluable 
service.  It  concerns  a  relative  of  hers." 

"Not  Miss  Darnell?" 

"  No ;  a  Mr.  Darnell,  —  Mr.  Richard  Darnell." 

"  Miss  Darnell's  brother.*' 

"Indeed!" 


202  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

Addenda  Pennell  did  not  like  it.  He  knew 
Richard  Darnell,  but  chiefly  as  a  Southern  gentle- 
man who  had  been  a  prisoner  and  who  spent  al- 
together too  much  money.  But  he  also  knew  how 
profoundly  Octopia  loved  him.  He  at  once  re- 
solved that  he  would  at  least  postpone  the  matter. 
He  would  rather  know  more  of  Richard  Darnell 
first ;  and  his  extreme  caution  in  business  matters 
and  his  love  for  Darnell's  sister  alike  indisposed 
him  to  disobey  Mrs.  Wynne. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  he  said,  as  he  rose,  "  that  I 
cannot  help  you.  I  will  write  to  Mrs.  Wynne. 
Meanwhile,  should  you  feel  disposed  to  be  more 
frank,  let  me  hear  from  you.  Here  is  my  card." 
As  he  spoke,  he  looked  about  on  the  table,  and 
not  finding  what  he  sought,  seized  a  single  sheet 
of  ruled  commercial  note-paper,  wrote  "  Addenda 
Pennell,  No.  93  Ogden  St.,"  tore  off  the  scrap,  and 
gave  it  to  Blake,  who  folded  it  and  put  it  in  his 
pocket-book,  saying,  "  I  am  sorry,  sir,  you  can 
do  no  more  for  me.  You  have  only  delayed  my 
errand." 

"  Well,  I  am  sorry  too.  I  may  be  over-cautious  ; 
but  before  we  part  let  me  say  that  when  you  are 
here  again  I  shall  be  most  glad  to  see  you.  I  may 
change  my  mind,  you  know." 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  call,"  said  Blake,  and  went 
away  with  the  feeling  that  somehow  he  must  have 
mismanaged  the  matter,  and  that  it  might  have 
been  well  to  speak  more  freely. 

If  he  had  begun  to  do  so,  he  would  have  realized 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  203 

the  difficulty  in  which  he  was  placed  by  his  double 
view  of  official  and  personal  obligations  and  of  his 
duty  to  people  whom  he  had  never  seen.  Then, 
too,  he  had  been  put  on  his  guard  by  the  evident 
annoyance  of  Pennell  at  his  mention  of  Miss  Dar- 
nell. 

As  he  sat  in  the  railroad-car  next  day,  thinking 
with  amusement  and  with  a  feeling  of  sentimental 
interest  of  his  little  quest  and  its  romantic  aspects, 
he  suddenly  recalled  the  wonder  with  which  he 
had  read  the  name  Addenda.  He  took  out  the 
paper  on  which  the  agent  had  written  his  address, 
and  for  a  moment  was  puzzled.  It  was  the  up- 
per half  of  a  page  of  note-paper,  and  was  evi- 
dently an  unfinished  note.  It  began,  — 

DEAR  Miss  OLIVIA,  —  I  begin  to  think  you 
have  been  rather  hasty.  Your  poor  cousin  is  in 
the  utmost  distress  — 

Here  it  was  torn  off ;  but  above  was  written,  in 
the  agent's  formal  handwriting,  "  To  Miss  Olivia 
Wynne,  Cape  May  Court-house."  On  the  oppo- 
site side  was  Pennell's  address. 

The  young  major  broke  out  into  an  honest 
laugh,  which  caused  two  or  three  passengers  to  re- 
gard him  curiously  for  a  moment  over  the  tops  of 
their  morning  papers. 

"  By  George !  what  a  delicious  fluke  ! "  said 
Blake  to  himself,  wishing  he  could  see  Mr.  Ad- 
denda Pennell  at  the  moment  when  he  should  sit 


204  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

down  to  finish  that  note.  In  fact,  Mr.  Pennell 
had  made  one  of  those  bewildering  slips  to  which 
the  over-prudent  are  liable. 

The  line  or  two  yet  left  of  the  note  made  it  ap- 
pear, as  far  as  Roland  could  make  out,  that  Mrs. 
Wynne  had  left  home  for  some  cause  of  which 
Miss  Darnell  was  a  part.  There  was  a  certain 
romance  about  this  quest  which  began  to  make  it 
an  agreeable  duty.  It  grew  a  more  emphatic  duty 
as  it  became  a  more  pleasant  one.  Even  our  vir- 
tues masquerade  at  times.  As  Blake  whirled 
over  the  old  red  sandstone  of  New  Jersey  and 
anon  across  its  breadth  of  sands  he  sat  wondering 
where  Miss  Wynne  might  be,  and  whether  his 
friend  had  not  over-drawn  his  pretty  pastel  of  the 
drawing-room  scene.  He  laughed  at  last  as  he 
suddenly  discovered  that  it  would  be  unpleasant 
to  find  the  young  woman  uncomely. 

When  next  day  he  dined  at  Mr.  John  Francis' 
on  Walnut  Street,  he  had  grown  moody  and 
thoughtful,  and  did  little  justice  to  Philip's  many 
glowing  eulogiums  on  this  marvel  among  friends. 
Miss  Francis  found  him  quiet,  and  twitted  Philip 
after  breakfast  next  day  about  the  social  failure 
of  his  friend. 

"  Now,  really,  Phil,"  she  said,  "  when  a  man 
has  but  one  swan  in  his  goose-pond,  it  is  rather  sad 
to  hear  a  treacherous  quack,  quack."  She  de- 
clared that  this  was  the  end  of  her  earthly  illu- 
sions. 

Mr.  John  Francis  also  did  not  find  the  major 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  205 

very  entertaining,  and  said  so,  but  would  always 
be  glad  to  see  Phil's  friend,  and  in  fact  did  give 
him  his  best  Madeira. 

As  Blake  was  Philip's  sole  human  enthusiasm, 
although  he  cynically  hid  his  admiration  from  its 
object,  he  told  his  sister  she  had  lived  too  long  in 
Philadelphia  to  know  a  clever  man  from  a  dull 
man,  and  then  put  his  hat  on  very  hard  and  went 
out,  disgusted,  to  meet  his  friend  at  the  club. 

The  charges  made  were  more  or  less  just. 
Roland  Blake  had  one  of  the  mental  peculiarities 
which  insure  success ;  if  he  was  at  all  interested 
in  an  enterprise,  small  or  large,  he  could  never 
get  away  from  it,  and  it  absorbed  his  attention  so 
as  to  affect  for  a  time  his  really  pleasant  social 
qualities  and  to  make  him  seem  absent  and  pre- 
occupied. 

Francis  found  him  in  this  mood  after  breakfast, 
sitting  deep  in  thought  in  the  smoking-room  of 
the  club.  It  was  a  warm  September  morning, 
and  the  club  was  as  empty  as  usual  at  that  time. 
Blake  was  looking  out  of  a  window  at  the  rather 
sombre  and  rigid  formality  of  the  white  door- 
steps and  brick  fronts  of  the  houses  across  the 
way.  A  long  column  of  disbanded  soldiers  home- 
ward bound  was  moving  gayly  westward  on  the 
opposite  pavement.  Suddenly  he  felt  a  hand  on 
his  shoulder,  and  heard  Francis  saying,  — 

"  What  are  you  mooning  about,  old  man  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it 's  you,  Phil !  I  was  thinking  how  im- 
V  personal  modern  wars  are ;  how  little  dislike  or 
hate  there  is  nowadays  between  two  armies." 


206  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"  How  about  Darnell  ?  "  said  Francis,  mischiev- 
ously. 

"  Oh,  confound  Darnell ! " 

"  Very  impersonal,  that !  Perhaps  you  won't 
care  to  learn  that  I  heard  from  him  last  week. 
He  is  still  at  the  North,  and  wants  very  much  to 
meet  you." 

"  I  dare  say  he  does.  I  cannot  say  that  I  am 
equally  desirous  to  meet  him." 

"  I  heard  that  he  was  in  New  York." 

«'  Is  he,  indeed  ?  " 

"  What  a  mysterious  fellow  you  are  !  Now,  it 
seems  to  me  that  I  should  really  like  to  see  that 
man  if  I  were  in  your  place." 

"  Well,  you  are  not,  Phil,  and  that  is  all  there 
is  of  it.  There  is  in  my  conduct  about  this  man 
something  which  is  and  must  remain  unexplained. 
I  have  already  told  you  this.  Let  me  add  that 
I  have  ample  cause  to  know  that  he  is  a  scoun- 
drel." 

"  Good  gracious,  Roland !  I  have  a  general 
belief  in  the  scampishness  of  mankind,  but  you 
seem  to  have  a  keener  nose  for  it  than  I  have. 
At  all  events,  he  will  be  here  early  this  fall,  and 
how  I  am  to  receive  him,  after  what  you  tell  me, 
I  do  not  see." 

"  I  wish  I  could  help  you  further  ;  but  I  cannot. 
When  do  we  go  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  came  early  to  tell  you  that  I  shall  be 
detained  here  for  a  while,  a  week  or  so,  at  least, 
After  that  I  will  join  you." 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  207 

"  Very  well.  Do  you  know  a  quiet  place  on 
the  coast  called  Cape  May  Court-house  ?  " 

"  I  have  heard  of  it." 

"  I  shall  take  my  guns  and  fishing-traps  and  go 
there  to-day.     Come  as  soon  as  you  can." 
„    "  It  will  be  ghastly  dull." 

"  But  you  will  have  me,"  said  Blake,  laughing. 

"  Well,  you  have  n't  been  as  genial  of  late  as 
might  be  desired.  And  I  can't  even  get  a  row 
out  of  you.  You  are  undergoing  moral  atrophy 
from  disuse  of  your  passions.  What  you  want  is 
a  love-affair." 

"  Try  it  yourself,  my  good  doctor." 

"  I  can't.  Even  homoeopathic  doses  of  femininity 
disagree  with  me.  Oh,  don't  laugh,  Roland.  I've 
tried  it.  My  heart  is  like  Noah's  dove ;  it  always 
comes  back  to  my  own  little  ark." 

"You  had  better  read  Genesis  again,  Phil, 
before  you  use  it  to  illustrate  your  biography. 
Must  you  go  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  come  down  as  soon  as  you  can." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

"  Thereon  my  lady,  who  was  young  and  fair, 
And  yearning  for  some  heart-hold  upon  life, 
Like  the  loosed  tendril  of  a  wind-blown  Tine 
That  seeks,  and  knows  not  why,  smiled  once  again, 
And  blossomed  like  a  rose  surprised  of  June." 

IT  was  dusk  when  Mrs.  Wynne  and  Olivia 
turned  out  of  the  deep,  sandy  New  Jersey  road, 
and  the  lanky,  sinewy  horses  were  pulled  up  in 
front  of  the  small  village  inn.  They  had  tried 
the  noisy  hotels  of  Cape  May  for  three  weeks, 
and  the  old  lady  had  declared  that  they  were 
worse  than  Octopia.  The  comings  and  goings  of 
people,  the  constant  footsteps  in  the  carpetless 
corridors,  the  tumult  of  the  band,  and  the  steady 
roar  of  the  breakers  became  insupportable.  She 
said  at  last  that  she  must  have  quiet,  and  if  she 
did  not  she  would  go  back  to  New  York  and 
Olivia  might  do  as  she  pleased. 

Olivia  was  in  despair.  She  did  not  like  the 
place.  Her  training  and  natural  reserve  of  course 
prevented  her  from  making  acquaintances.  When 
the  porticoes  were  most  deserted,  she  sat  alone, 
or  ventured  a  little  way  up  the  beach  to  sketch ; 
but  people  came  and  looked  over  her  shoulders ; 
and  men  stared  with  ill-concealed  admiration  at 
the  tall,  lonely  girl  who  seemed  to  have  no  friends. 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  209 

At  times  she  took  refuge  with  Mrs.  Wynne ;  but 
when  the  hour  of  reading  was  over  the  old  lady 
preferred  to  be  alone  with  her  knitting,  and  when 
she  did  not  make  this  plain  to  Olivia  the  inces- 
sant, monotonous  click-click  of  the  needles  sounded 
to  the  girl  like  some  wickedly  unpunctual  clock, 
and  she  was  glad  of  any  excuse  to  escape. 

Her  journey  and  sense  of  disenthrallment  had 
for  a  brief  time  caused  her  to  feel  the  utmost  ex- 
ultation ;  but  now  she  keenly  realized  her  isolation, 
and  began  to  fear  that  she  had  made  a  mistake, 
and  to  take  herself  to  task  for  having  acted  solely 
on  selfish  considerations.  One  hour  with  Octopia 
would  have  changed  her  mind ;  but  time  lessens 
our  beliefs  in  the  difficult,  and  she  felt  as  though 
it  might  —  nay,  should  —  have  been  possible  for 
her  to  stay  at  home.  Then  also  her  grandmother's 
feebleness  at  times  alarmed  her ;  and  in  fact  she 
was  too  wearily  weighted  for  one  so  young. 

The  moral  and  mental  machinery  may,  like  the 
muscular  mechanism,  become  disordered  from  lack 
of  chance  to  develop.  When  fate  denies  the  sun- 
shine to  gracious  seed  of  nature's  sowing,  some 
evil  comes  of  it,  —  decay,  distorted  growths,  too 
late  a  fruitage.  There  were  these  risks  for  Olivia. 

Twice  Olivia  contrived  to  settle  their  hotel  bill 
without  going  in  person  to  face  the  ordeal  of  the 
cashier's  desk  and  the  staring  men  who  lounged 
in  the  hideous  hall.  It  was  now  their  third  week 
at  the  Cape,  and  again  Mrs.  Wynne  desired  Olivia 
to  pay  the  bill,  and  at  the  same  time  to  ask  a 
number  of  questions. 


210  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

Olivia  hesitated;  she  had  no  training  in  the  hon- 
est independence  of  the  young  American  woman, 
and  each  novel  excursion  into  the  outside  world 
of  affairs  cost  her  a  certain  amount  of  effort.  Mr. 
Pennell  had  brought  them  to  Cape  May,  and  to 
Olivia  it  had  been  in  anticipation  quite  other 
than  what  she  found  it,  and  now  she  must  take 
the  consequences,  and,  above  all,  save  her  grand- 
mother from  annoyances. 

She  remembered  that  in  Europe  her  mother 
sent  for  a  servant  who  took  away  the  money  due 
and  brought  back  a  receipt,  so  that  there  was  no 
trouble  about  it.  After  having  thrice  rung  the 
bell  in  her  relative's  room  and  had  no  response, 
that  lady  began  to  express  herself  as  to  what  she 
/  called  fuss.  In  fact,  movement  disturbed  her ; 
she  loved  the  sedative  of  tranquillity. 

"  Olivia,''  she  said,  "  you  may  ring  all  day  if 
you  please ;  no  one  comes.  You  will  have  to  go 
down  to  the  clerk's  desk  and  get  the  receipt  your- 
self, as  other  people  do." 

"But,  grandmamma,  if  I  go  there  to  ask  a  ques- 
tion they  keep  me  waiting,  and  —  I  don't  mind 
being  looked  at,  but  I  do  mind  being  stared  at ; 
and  there  is  a  perfectly  odious  clerk,  who  wears 
rings." 

"  I  do  not  see,  my  dear,  how  that  affects  the 
matter.  You  have  brought  me  here,  and  we  must 
do  as  other  people  do." 

"  But  I  should  like  you  to  see  that  young  man, 
grandmamma,"  said  Olivia,  with  a  faint  outbreak 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  211 

of  her  too  much  repressed  sense  of  the  comical 
aspects  of  what  she  saw.  "  His  hair  is  very  pale, 
and  it  is  parted  in  the  middle.  It  is  sad  to  see  a 
man's  hair  so  tremendously  parted.  I  am  sure  it 
will  never  meet  again." 

"  What  nonsense  you  talk,  child  !  " 

"  But,  grandmamma,  you  really  would  have  a 
new  experience  if  you  could  see  that  man.  He 
answers  twenty  questions  a  minute,  and  opens 
letters,  and  writes  telegrams,  and  slams  account- 
books  about,  and  spins  round  on  a  high  stool ;  and 
sticks  his  hair  full  of  pens  until  he  looks  like  a 
literary  porcupine;  and  when  he  has  a  half-minute 
to  himself  he  reads  a  brown-covered  novel." 

**  You  seem  to  have  studied  his  habits  with 
some  care.  Now  suppose  you  were  to  go  and  pay 
him." 

"  Yes,  grandmamma ;  and  do  you  think  there 
would  be  any  impropriety  in  my  asking  him  what 
that  novel  is  ?  At  the  present  rate  it  will  be  two 
years  before  he  can  finish  it." 

Mrs.  Wynne  smiled  feebly.  Her  thoughts  re- 
turned to  herself,  as  is  common  with  the  aged, 
and  she  said,  irrelevantly,  — 

"  I  was  not  allowed  to  read  novels  when  I  was 
young."  Then  she  looked  up.  "  Have  you  heard 
from  Octopia  yet  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,  grandmamma.     How  should  I?" 

"  Yes,  that  is  true.  1  am  losing  my  memory. 
What  day  is  it  ?  " 

"  Thursday." 


212  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"  We  have  been  here  over  three  weeks.  The 
noise  confuses  me  ;  I  forget  everything,  —  even 
my  meals,  — except  after  I  have  eaten  them,"  she 
added,  with  a  touch  of  humor.  "Now  don't 
dawdle  any  longer,  child ;  go  and  pay  the  bill." 

Olivia  went  reluctantly  along  the  bare,  resound- 
ing corridor  and  down-stairs.  It  was  the  morning 
bathing-hour,  and  the  vast,  ugly  hall  was  nearly 
deserted.  She  was  agreeably  surprised  to  find  at 
the  desk  a  new  clerk.  He  was  a  simply-dressed 
young  fellow,  who  did  his  multifarious  duties 
with  some  apparent  distrust  of  his  capacity.  In 
fact,  he  was  learning  a  new  and  what  he  meant 
should  be  a  temporary  business. 

He  looked  up  and  said,  quietly,  "  What  can  I 
do  for  you  ?  " 

"  Please  to  receipt  this  bill.  Here  is  a  check 
for  the  amount." 

He  went  through  the  various  forms,  made  the 
entries  in  his  books,  and  at  last  concluded  the 
little  business.  Then,  as  she  stood  a  moment 
looking  at  the  receipt  and  counting  some  change 
she  had  asked  for,  a  young  fellow  in  white  flannel 
with  a  straw  hat  and  a  gay  ribbon  around  it  took 
her  place,  saying,  with  an  air  of  surprise,  — 

"Why,  Hollis,  how  came  you  here?  We 
missed  you  from  the  class  last  year.  What  on 
earth  became  of  you  ?  " 

"  The  money  gave  out.  I  shall  go  back  to  Yale 
this  winter.  I  have  done  pretty  well  at  this  busi- 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  213 

"  Good  gracious  !  do  you  like  it  ?  " 

"  No,  but  I  like  tlie  results.  Very  possibly  I 
may  study  law  and  not  go  back  to  Yale.  I  am 
not  sure." 

"  I  don't  think  I  should  like  your  present  occu- 
pation," said  the  young  man. 

The  clerk  looked  at  his  vacant  face,  and  re- 
plied, — 

"  No !  my  people  do  not  quite  fancy  it ;  but  I 
am  getting  some  good  lessons  out  of  it.  Suppose 
you  were  to  join  me  ?  "  And  he  smiled. 

The  man  in  flannel  laughed  loudly  at  the  joke, 
and  said  he  would  see  him  again.  Then,  light- 
ing a  cigarette,  he  took  a  good  look  at  Olivia  and 
moved  away. 

It  was  a  wholesome  little  experience  to  Olivia 
in  American  life,  and  the  talk  she  had  heard  and 
the  new  clerk's  quiet  ways  so  reassured  her  that 
she  ventured  to  return  to  the  desk. 

The  clerk  laid  down  the  Italian  grammar  he 
had  taken  up,  —  for  he  too  had  his  book,  —  and 
turned  to  her  promptly.  "  Is  not  the  change 
correct  ?  I  am  not  very  ready  at  money-count- 
ing." 

"  Oh,  yes,  thank  you,"  said  Olivia.  "I  thought 
that  perhaps  you  might  be  able  to  tell  me  of  some 
more  quiet  place  than  the  Cape  and  not  too  far 
away.  I  am  here  with  my  grandmother,  and  the 
noises  distract  her." 

The  young  man  paused  a  moment,  as  if  reflect- 
ing. He  thought  first  how  sweet  and  yet  how 
strong  was  the  face  before  him. 


214  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"  I  think,"  he  said,  "  you  would  find  Cape  May 
Court-house  pleasant  and  quiet.  It  is  an  easy 
drive  from  here.  I  was  there  last  week,  and 
thought  how  agreeable  it  would  be  to  escape  to  it 
for  a  while." 

Then  he  began  to  reflect  that  he  was  getting 
out  of  the  clerk  business  a  little,  and  this  he  had 
meant  resolutely  to  avoid.  He  added,  in  a  formal 
tone,  — 

"  I  will  write  to-day  and  ask  about  rooms,  if 
you  wish.  I  will  send  up  the  reply.  Miss  Wynne, 
I  believe?" 

"  Yes.     My  grandmother  is  Mrs.  Wynne." 

"  I  will  send  a  note  up  to  Mrs.  Wynne  when  I 
hear." 

"  Thank  you.     I  shall  be  very  much  obliged." 

The  clerk  looked  after  her  until  she  went  out 
of  view  at  a  turn  of  the  broad  staircase ;  but  at 
times  for  many  a  day  he  was  haunted  by  a  more 
and  more  dreamy  memory  of  the  face  which  lit 
up  at  the  small  and  quite  official  offer  of  service 
he  had  made,  and  which  seemed  so  sensitively 
ready  to  anticipate  words  with  expression. 

He  bethought  himself,  as  he  took  up  his  book 
again,  how  life  was  like  a  great  road,  where  the 
wheel- ruts  cross  and  recross  or  meet  and  never 
again  come  together.  Then  he  made  a  mistake 
in  a  bill,  and  was  rather  roughly  called  back  to 
the  world  of  figures  by  the  debtor's  unpleasant- 
ness. 

However,  he  was  as  good  as  his  word,  got  a  re- 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  215 

ply  about  the  rooms,  and  learned  for  them  all  that 
they  wished  to  know,  being  a  gentleman  in  the  dis- 
guise of  a  hotel  clerk ;  then  he  saw  Mrs.  Wynne 
and  Miss  Wynne  drive  away  in  the  Jersey  wagon, 
went  back  to  his  desk,  and  knew  them  no  more. 

The  old  lady  consented  to  move,  but  introduced 
much  needless  friction  into  the  movement.  Hap- 
pily, the  road  proved  to  be  easy  for  every  one  ex- 
cept the  horses  ;  and  perhaps  she  felt  it  as  a  rea- 
sonable courtesy  on  the  part  of  the  mosquitoes 
that  they  seemed  to  prefer  the  more  youthful 
prey.  The  way  ran  inland,  and  at  last,  as  we 
have  said,  brought  them  to  the  little  inn,  which 
stood  modestly  back  from  the  road  under  shelter 
of  the  leafy  cascades  of  two  great  weeping  wil- 
lows. 

Circumstances  further  favored  Miss  Wynne. 
The  inn  was  quiet,  —  its  few  summer  guests  had 
fled  ;  the  rooms,  if  small,  were  of  absolute  cleanli- 
ness, and  the  cooking  was  of  that  simple  perfec- 
tion which  was  formerly  to  be  found  on  the  coast 
of  New  Jersey. 

At  last  Mrs.  Wynne  was  comfortable  and  con- 
tented. Her  needles  clicked  steadily,  and  she 
began  to  improve  in  health,  and,  as  her  irritabil- 
ity born  of  discomfort  lessened,  to  take  more 
and  more  pleasure  in  the  efflorescence  of  happy, 
vigorous  life  which  came  almost  of  a  sudden  to 
Olivia. 

The  little  hamlet  was  at  that  day  untroubled  by 
many  visitors,  and  quite  off  from  the  great  high- 


216  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

ways  of  the  moving,  uneasy  summer  world.  The 
day  after  their  arrival  Olivia  ventured  out  to  ex- 
amine it,  with  a  queer  yet  delightful  sensation  of 
being  an  explorer  in  an  unknown  land.  When 
she  came  back  in  a  couple  of  hours,  flushed  and 
joyous,  the  old  lady  put  on  her  glasses  and  in- 
spected her  curiously  and  not  without  reasonable 
satisfaction.  Then  she  laid  down  her  needles,  and 
said,  — 

"  Where  have  you  been,  my  dear  ?  Tell  me  all 
about  it.  I  feel  better  to-day." 

"  That  was  all  I  wanted  to  make  me  perfectly 
happy." 

"  Is  it  much  of  a  town  ?  "  inquired  the  old  lady, 
in  placid  pursuit  of  information. 

"  Grandmamma,  it  is  one  street.  The  houses 
are  weather-worn  and  gray,  like  the  men.  I  have 
been  into  the  pine  woods ;  I  have  been  up  the 
street  to  the  judge's  house  and  down  town  to  the 
wheelwright's ;  I  have  seen  the  court-house ;  I 
have  bought  some  tape,  and  two  spools  of  thread, 
and  a  pound  of  ginger  snaps,  —  all  there  was ;  I 
have  seen  a  tire  put  on  a  wheel,  and  a  horse  shod  ; 
and  I  have  been  in  the  kitchen  to  see  Mrs.  Lud- 
lam  make  cup-cake,  and  "  — 

"  Bless  me,  child ! " 

"  Oh,  that  was  n't  all.  If  you  speak  to  any  one, 
they  are  called  Ludlam,  or  Learning,  or  Hand. 
It 's  so  convenient !  Nobody  is  called  anything 
else.  And,  last  and  best  of  all,  grandmamma,  I 
have  made  an  acquaintance." 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  217 

"  My  dear,  you  should  be  a  little  careful  as  to 
that." 

Olivia  set  her  arms  akimbo.  "  Now  I  am  the 
blacksmith,  —  he  is  Joe  Hand ;  Tom  Holmes 
helps  him.  I  asked  him  how  one  could  get  over 
to  the  beaches.  He  took  a  good  look  at  me,  and 
then  he  dropped  a  horse's  foot  he  had  in  his 
leather  lap,  as  if  it  was  of  no  kind  of  importance. 
It  was  really  a  compliment,  grandmamma,  to  see 
how  he  neglected  that  horse  for  me.  Then  he 
said,  '  Uncle  John,  this  here  young  woman  wants 
to  get  over  to  the  beaches.' 

"  Grandmamma,  now  I  know  Uncle  John  Les- 
lie. He  does  n't  answer  to  the  name  of  Hand  or 
Ludlam,  because  he  comes  from  Long-a-coming. 
He  knocked  his  head  against  the  door-lintel  when 
he  came  in  to  speak  to  me ;  I  think  he  must  be 
six  foot  four  ;  *  and  they  do  say,  maarm,  as  he  ken 
heft  a  buoy  weight,'  and  why  every  one  calls  him 
4  Uncle  John '  I  do  not  know  ;  it  is  a  mystery, 
madam.  And  now  I  have  done."  And  with 
this  she  pirouetted  and  dropped  a  courtesy  which 
spread  her  skirts  in  a  voluminous  circle  about  her. 
"  I  have  n't  made  a  cheese  for  four  years,  grand- 
mamma, and  I  feel  ridiculously  happy." 

"  Upon  my  word,  I  think  you  must  be  out  of 
your  head,  child." 

"  No  ;  happy,  —  only  happy.  Uncle  John  is 
the  captain  of  the  life-station  on  Five  Mile  Beach. 
He  says  he  will  show  it  to  me  if  you  will  let  me 
go  over  in  the  boat  with  him." 


218  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"  And  how  old,  Olive,  is  this  universal  uncle?  " 

"  About  sixty,  I  should  guess." 

"Well,  we  shall  see.  I  suppose  there  is  no 
hurry?" 

"  No,"  said  Olive,  disappointed  nevertheless ; 
"  I  can  wait." 

She  had  been  waiting  so  long  for  all  girlish 
pleasures  that  to  abandon  for  a  time  any  scheme 
of  enjoyment  had  come  to  be  only  too  easy. 

Mrs.  Wynne  had  arranged  that  she  was  to  have 
her  meals  brought  up  to  her  room ;  but  Olivia 
had  pleaded  that,  as  there  were  no  other  guests, 
she  herself  might  be  allowed  to  eat  in  the  little 
dining-room  down-stairs. 

She  spent  the  first  day  in  walking  and  sketch- 
ing. The  two  rows  of  weather-worn  wooden 
houses  were  divided  by  a  road,  where  the  dogs 
took  delight  in  dusty  scampers,  and  bare-legged 
children  dug  in  the  sand  until  some  passing  wagon 
scattered  them  and  disturbed  the  laborious  black 
tumble-bugs.  She  wandered  on  at  last  until  she 
came  to  the  meadows  beyond  the  town.  Low  dikes 
kept  out  the  tides,  and  within  them,  to  landward, 
countless  ditches  crossed  and  recrossed. 

Olive  followed  a  well-worn  path  along  one  of 
the  embankments  until  it  ended  in  a  narrow  plank 
sustained  by  piles  driven  into  the  oozy  soil  be- 
neath. Every  moment  she  paused,  attracted  by 
some  strange  product  of  the  marsh.  It  was  all 
amazingly  new  to  her.  There  was  the  matchless 
green  of  spatterdocks,  and  the  floating  arrow-head 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  219 

leaves  already  purpled.  Her  first  acquaintance 
with  the  grace  of  the  tall  cat-tails  she  never  for- 
got. The  plumy  golden-rods  were  thick  on  the 
dikes,  with  asters  and  centaury,  while  around 
every  brown  pool  the  salt-wort  or  samphire  began 
to  wear  its  autumn  lake-tints,  to  be  yet  more 
glorious  before  October  had  gone. 

Now  pausing,  now  lightly  flitting  over  the 
springy  planks,  she  came  at  last  to  the  main  dike, 
where,  being  raised  above  the  marsh,  she  com- 
manded a  wider  view.  At  her  feet  was  a  broad 
salt  creek,  and  beyond  it  low  marsh-lands,  —  to 
the  view  merely  a  level  prairie  flashing  with  the 
glitter  of  sharp,  stiff  grasses.  Two  miles  away  a 
line  of  pure  white  sand-dunes  marked  the  summit 
of  the  ocean  beach,  and  all  between  her  and  these 
were  myriad  creeks,  water-ways,  "  vents,"  broader 
thoroughfares,  and  to  left  and  right  narrow  inlets 
through  which  the  pent-up  waters  swept  fiercely 
with  the  ebb  and  flood.  Now  and  then  a  distant 
sail  moved  mysteriously  through  the  grass.  At 
Olivia's  feet  the  muddy  banks  were  populous  with 
strange  creatures,  —  scuttling  crabs,  queer  worms, 
and  lazy  turtles. 

The  salt  air  came  over  the  water  with  hum  of 
insect  life  and  call  of  birds.  No  one  was  in  sight. 
She  seemed  to  own  it  all  in  unquestioned  right. 
Tranquilly  happy,  she  stood  upon  the  shore  and 
felt  the  rare  joy  of  being  in  some  true  and  pleas- 
ant relation  to  this  gracious  world  of  sun  and  air 
and  marsh  and  water. 


220  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

A  bit  of  squared  ship-timber  lay  on  the  bank. 
She  sat  down  and  began  to  sketch  the  dead  hull 
of  a  wrecked  schooner  which  some  mighty  tide 
had  drifted  in  and  left  upon  the  farther  shore,  — 
a  bit  of  mast,  half  a  deck,  and  for  the  rest  gaunt 
ribs  black  and  now  tide-marked  with  barnacles 
and  sea-weed.  Two  or  three  worn  blocks  hung 
over  the  rail  like  ancient  skulls. 

Finding  the  horizon  too  remote  and  ample,  she 
went  down  the  bank  and  pulled  at  the  rope 
which  held  a  large  flat  bateau  fastened  to  a  stake 
on  the  margin.  Somewhat  timidly,  she  got  in, 
and  sat  down  with  her  back  to  the  land  and  con- 
tinued her  sketch.  Once,  looking  round,  she  saw 
that  the  boat  had  drifted  out  to  the  length  of  the 
rope,  but,  being  satisfied  that  it  was  securely  held, 
she  turned  to  her  task  again. 

An  hour  passed  away,  and  the  sun  getting 
warmer,  she  made  up  her  mind  to  go  home,  but 
on  turning  perceived  to  her  discomfiture  that  the 
tide  had  fallen  and  that  the  boat  was  stranded  a 
half-dozen  feet  from  the  bank,  between  which  and 
herself  was  a  shining  bed  of  mud,  full  of  the 
round  holes  of  the  squirting  clam. 

She  was  a  half-mile  from  the  village,  and  no 
one  was  in  sight.  It  was  rather  funny,  she 
thought ;  but  then  how  long  would  it  last  ?  The 
tide  had  to  go  down  and  then  come  up.  How 
long  were  tides  about  this  business?  She  was 
sure  she  had  learned  all  about  them  once,  but 
never  having  dreamed  that  a  practical  application 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  221 

of  the  knowledge  might  become  valuable,  she  had 
forgotten  all  about  them.  She  was  sure  the  tide 
was  going  out,  because  a  crab  which  seemed  to 
have  lost  his  claws  in  battle  with  his  peers  was 
hopelessly  stranded  beyond  her  boat. 

Decision  is  easy  when  only  one  course  is  possi- 
ble; and  accordingly,  after  an  enterprising  pull 
at  the  rope,  she  sat  down  again  in  the  stern  with 
a  laugh,  remarking  aloud,  "  Now,  what  can  I 
do?" 

At  this  moment  the  bow  of  a  skiff  parted  the 
reeds  on  the  further  shore,  where  a  small  creek  ran 
into  the  thoroughfare.  As  the  little  boat  sped  out 
on  to  the  broader  stream,  a  man  who  had  been 
standing  in  the  stern  and  sculling  with  noiseless 
ease  turned  suddenly  to  see  where  he  was  going. 
To  his  surprise  he  was  aware  of  a  young  woman 
seated  in  the  stern  of  a  stranded  boat,  not  thirty 
yards  distant.  A  broad  straw  hat  concealed  face 
and  neck,  but  the  lines  of  her  form  were  youthful 
and  gracious.  A  faint  smile  lit  up  his  face  as 
Blake,  still  standing,  began  to  paddle  his  skiff 
across  the  water.  The  sound  caught  Olive's  ear, 
and  turning,  she  saw  a  face  which  had  at  once 
vbecome  grave ;  a  strong,  squarely  built  figure  in  a 
much  used  army  undress  jacket,  the  head  above 
it  bare,  the  hair  short,  the  complexion  darkly  sun- 
burned ;  a  visage  resolute  and  grave,  plainly  not 
of  the  coast  people. 

V  Now  he  will  laugh  at  me,"  thought  Olive. 

"  Are  you  not  stranded  ?  "  he  said,  quietly. 


s/ 


222  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"  Yes.  I  was  sketching  and  forgot  all  about  the 
tide.  How  can  I  get  on  shore  ?  " 

"I  will  help  you  in  a  moment,"  he  said,  as  he 
came  beside  her.  "  I  myself  forgot  that  the  tide 
was  on  the  ebb,  and  I  am  so  used  to  the  sea  that  I 
should  have  remembered  it.  One  moment,"  he 
added ;  "  and  pray  sit  down,"  for  she  had  risen, 
"  it  will  be  all  right  in  a  moment."  As  he  spoke 
he  urged  his  skiff  well  up  on  to  the  oozy  shore, 
drove  an  oar  deep  into  the  mud,  and  with  the 
boat-rope  in  his  hand  leaped  lightly  ashore. 

"  Don't  move,"  he  said,  "  and  hold  fast  to  the 
gunwales, —  the  sides,  I  mean, —  while  I  pull  your 
ark  to  land."  Securing  his  own  lighter  skiff  he 
took  hold  of  the  rope  by  which  Olivia's  heavy 
bateau  was  made  fast  to  the  shore,  and  with  great 
difficulty  drew  it  within  four  or  five  feet  of  the 
firmer  bank.  Without  a  word  he  again  and  again 
put  forth  his  utmost  strength,  but  with  only  the 
most  trivial  result.  The  task  seemed  to  occupy 
him  to  the  exclusion  of  all  else. 

Meanwhile  Olivia  was  becoming  embarrassed. 

"  I  beg,"  she  said,  "  that  you  will  not  trouble 
yourself  further.  It  really  is  not  worth  while.  I 
can  wait." 

"  Hardly.  I  shall  manage  it  somehow,"  said 
Blake,  who  stood  contemplating  the  situation 
with  that  inborn  dislike  to  being  defeated  which 
belongs  to  the  temperament  of  men  destined  to 
success  in  life.  Miss  Wynne  began  to  be  amused, 
and  to  wonder  which  would  win  —  tenacious  mud 
or  tenacious  man. 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  223 

"  Do  not  you  think  I  could  jump,  or  might  not 
you  find  a  stone  ?  " 

"  The  bank  is  too  slippery  for  a  jump,  and  as  to 
stones  large  enough,  there  is  not  one  from  here  to 
Key  West." 

"  Then  I  must  possess  my  soul  in  patience." 

Blake  glanced  at  the  changeful  face,  the  modest 
eyes,  a  certain  stateliness  in  the  carriage  of  the 
head,  and  concluded  swiftly  that  the  soul  might 
be  a  pleasant  possession. 

"  There  is  one  way,"  he  said.  "  If  Uncle  John 
were  here  he  would  calmly  carry  you  ashore." 

"  But  he  is  not."  She  colored  slightly,  and 
they  both  laughed. 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  added.  "  We  have  a  way  on 
our  coast,"  and  he  moved  half  way  towards  the 
bow  of  her  boat,  sinking,  as  he  did  so,  knee  deep 
in  the  slimy  mud. 

"  Oh,  please,  don't,"  she  cried. 

"  This  way,  please."  She  rose  and  came  to  the 
bow  at  once. 

"Now,"  he  said,  "I  shall  stand  on  one  foot,  and 
lift  the  other  —  so,  and  you  will  set  one  foot  on 
mine,  and  jump,  but  you  must  be  quick  and  not 
afraid,  or  we  shall  both  get  a  tumble." 

Olive,  in  turn,  glanced  once  at  the  hardy,  reas- 
suring face,  gave  him  one  hand,  set  a  foot  on  his 
as  he  lifted  it,  and  leaped  lightly  upon  the  bank. 
Blake  kept  his  station  with  a  vigorous  effort  af- 
ter this  rather  difficult  feat,  turned  to  the  boat, 
gathered  up  her  sketching-material,  and  quietly 


224  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

waded  ashore.  As  he  gave  them  to  the  owner  he 
i  noted  the  name,  "  Olivia  Wynne,"  on  the  back  of 
J  a  drawing-block,  and  felt  that  fortune  had  done 
him  a  good  turn. 

**  I  hardly  know  how  to  thank  you,"  said  the 
girl,  looking  with  dismay  at  Blake's  condition. 

"It  is  not  of  the  slightest  moment,"  he  returned, 
lifting  his  straw  hat,  as  with  another  word  or  two 
of  embarrassed  thanks  Miss  Wynne  bade  him 
good-morning  and  walked  away  along  the  raised 
planking  above  the  wet  meadow.  For  years  she 
had  seen  but  rarely  young  men  of  her  own  class, 
and  the  incident  left  her  with  a  slight  sense  of 
romance  and  a  pretty  vivid  remembrance  of  the 
masterful  face  and  vigorous  manliness  of  the  per- 
son who  had  aided  her.  She  was  not  sure  that 
if  she  told  her  grandmother  the  result  might  not 
be  an  unpleasant  limitation  of  her  newly  acquired 
liberty. 

On  her  return  to  the  hotel  she  heard  the  land- 
lady speak  of  Major  Blake.  The  name  startled 
her.  Could  this  by  any  chance  be  the  hero  of 
her  cousin's  story?  Then  she  saw  on  a  gun- 
case  in  the  hall  the  full  name,  "  Roland  Blake." 

After  breakfast  next  morning  she  found  it  amus- 
ing to  relate  to  the  old  lady  her  second  interview, 
which  she  did  in  her  rather  quaint  fashion. 

"  I  had  a  young  man  for  breakfast,  grand- 
mamma." 

"  To  eat,  my  dear  ?  You  make  use  of  very  odd 
expressions." 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  225 

Olive  laughed.  She  thought  the  cannibalism 
might  have  been  better  assigned  to  the  gray  eyes 
of  the  young  man  in  question. 

"  Oh,  I  know  all  about  him  now.  He  is  one 
of  our  officers.  His  name  is  Blake,  —  Roland 
Blake.  It  is  a  very  nice  name,  I  think.  He 
comes  from  Portsmouth." 

"Indeed!  Roland  Blake?  He  must  be  a 
grandson  of  Roland  Blake.  My  dear,  I  danced 
with  his  grandfather  at  the  ball  which  was  given 
to  Lafayette.  I  think  I  should  like  to  see  him, 
Olive.  His  father  was  a  handsome  man  as  I 
remember  him.  Is  the  son  handsome?  Is  he 
tall?" 

"  No,  he  is  not  tall.  If  you  desire  it,  grand- 
mamma, I  will  take  a  good  look  at  him,  and  if  I 
am  in  doubt  I  will  ask  him  if  he  is  generally  con- 
sidered handsome." 

The  old  lady  liked  to  be  amused,  and  began  to 
find  in  Olivia  a  new  source  of  quiet  pleasure,  as 
she  related  her  little  collections  of  gossip  and 
observation.  At  home  the  natural  playfulness  of 
her  fancy  had  been  repressed  by  hostile  circum- 
stance or  had  lacked  opportunity  and  food.  Now 
she  felt  at  times  the  need  to  restrain  herself  as 
to  both  speech  and  action.  She  had  found  friends 
and  comrades  at  home  in  books,  but  here  she 
was  seized  with  a  sudden  disgust  for  printed 
pages,  and  turned  with  wholesome  capacity  for 
fresher  enjoyment  to  the  simple  and  interesting 
people  about  her,  and  to  the  joy  of  earth  and  wood 


226  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

and  sea  and  marsh.  These  latter  at  least  were 
as  remembered  friends,  to  whom  she  came  back 
eagerly ;  but  as  to  the  variety  in  men  and  women 
she  knew  very  little.  There  were  some  dim  rec- 
ollections of  people  seen  abroad  who  took  small 
notice  of  a  growing  girl.  Then  there  was  her 
life  in  New  York,  where  her  education  had  been 
carried  on  by  masters.  In  her  classes  she  knew 
a  few  girls,  and  at  first  had  been  allowed  to  see 
some  youthful  society ;  but,  as  time  went  by,  at 
home,  the  constancy  of  the  claim  upon  her  had 
by  degrees  broken  off  all  such  alliances,  and  she 
had  fallen  into  a  life  which  included  little  except 
her  relatives,  her  books,  and  her  lessons,  and  occa- 
sional exchange  of  visits  with  the  few  people  she 
still  knew  in  New  York. 

Under  these  circumstances  the  formal  training 
she  got  from  Mrs.  Wynne  was  valuable  when  she 
began  to  inhale  the  exhilarating  breath  of  free- 
dom. The  old  lady  thought  proper  now  to  say  a 
word  of  warning :  — 

"  Remember,  Olive,  that  situated  as  I  am,  you 
are  left  almost  alone  to  yourself.  When  I  was 
young,  all  this  liberty  allowed  to  girls  was  well 
enough ;  but  I  have  my  doubts  whether  it  is  wise 
nowadays.  Men  are  more  wicked  than  they  used 
to  be :  that  I  am  sure  of." 

"  Indeed,  grandmamma !  were  they  never  wicked 
when  you  were  young  ?  "  said  Olivia,  with  an  ap- 
pearance of  demure  simplicity.  "  I  think  I  have 
heard  you  say  horrible  things  about  grandfather's 
friend  Colonel  Burr." 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  227 

"  My  dear,  he  was  so  charming  a  gentleman 
that  one  quite  forgot  how  naughty  he  was." 

"  I  don't  think  the  young  man  down-stairs  is 
wicked.  At  all  events,  I  shall  never  know  unless 
I  ask  him."  And  then  she  described  the  delight 
there  would  be  in  this  simplifying  of  social  life  by 
a  direct  inquiry  as  to  wealth,  health,  general  char- 
acter, and  belongings. 

Mrs.  Wynne  had  the  dislike  of  elderly  people 
to  being  puzzled  by  the  mental  attitudes  of 
younger  folks.  She  felt  it  vaguely  as  an  intangi- 
ble form  of  disrespect ;  and  at  times  the  girl  in 
her  sudden  evolution  was  bewildering  to  the  older 
lady,  who  in  their  stagnant  life  had  found  no  oc- 
casion to  make  much  practical  study  of  her  grand- 
child's character. 

She  reflected  a  moment.  "I  think,  dear,"  she 
said,  "if  Mr.  Blake  is  one  of  the  Portsmouth 
Blakes  I  should  like  to  see  him.  He  may  be  go- 
ing away ;  but  if  you  should  happen  to  see  him 
again  you  might  say  that  I  should  be  glad  if  he 
could  find  time  to  call  on  me." 

"But  I  meant  to  tell  you  that  he  told  me  he 
would  send  up  this  morning  to  ask  if  you  would 
allow  him  the  honor  of  seeing  you." 

"Was  that  what  he  said,  my  dear?  You  make 
so  much  fun  of  everything  lately  that  I  am  never 
quite  able  to  say  when  you  are  stating  a  fact  and 
when  you  are  not." 

"  Oh,  that  was  really  what  he  said.  He  has 
almost  as  beautiful  manners  as  you  have,  grand- 
mamma." 


228  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"I  suppose,  child,  he  thinks,  very  properly, 
that  as  he  has  to  take  his  meals  with  you  it  is 
well  that  he  should  know  me." 

"  That  must  be  it,"  said  Olivia,  with  some  in- 
ward sense  of  amusement. 

"Well,  tell  me  a  little  about  him.  If  he  is 
really  a  nice  person  I  am  glad  you  should  know 
him.  In  fact,  Olive,  it  is  hardly  my  fault  that  we 
have  known  so  few  people.  Octopia  "  — 

"  Please  don't  mention  her,  grandmamma :  I 
am  trying  to  forget  her.  Some  day  she  will  be 
down  on  us  again,  with  pillows  and  hot-water  bags 
and  shawls  and  scent  bottles,  and  then  my  free- 
dom is  at  an  end." 

"  Well,  child,  perhaps  now  that "  — 

"  Please  don't,  grandmamma.  Let  me  tell  you 
about  Mr.  Blake :  it  is  so  much  more  interesting. 
When  I  went  down  to  breakfast  he  was  walking 
up  and  down  under  the  willows,  bareheaded :  he 
will  be  awfully  freckled,  poor  thing!  —  so  I  went 
in  to  breakfast.  There  were  two  plates  and  nap- 
kin-rings, and  breakfast  for  ten  people,  —  fish,  and 
clam  fritters,  and  oysters,  and  *  cranberry  sass,' 
and  split  chickens  that  looked  exactly  like  the 
Austrian  double  eagles,  and  honey,  and  an  archi- 
pelago of  little  dishes.  By  and  by  he  came  in, 
—  Mr.  Blake,  I  mean,  —  and  said,  '  Good-morn- 
ing,' —  which  really  was  not  very  original,  —  and 
then  put  a  book  at  his  side  and  began  to  eat  and 
now  and  then  to  read.  He  ate  a  good  deal,  too." 

"Well,  and  what  did  he  say,  child?" 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  229 

"  You  could  n't  guess  in  a  week." 

"  I  suppose  not." 

"  Well,  after  a  while,  between  two  griddle-cakes 
he  looked  up  from  his  book  in  a  dreamy  sort  of 
way,  and,  just  as  if  I  had  been  reading  it  too,  he 
said,  '  Did  you  ever  notice  how  some  people  stum- 
ble over  themselves  ? ' 

"  I  said,  '  Yes,  it  was  very  common.' 

"  You  know  I  had  n't  the  least  idea  what  he 
meant ;  but  he  had  been  so  silent  I  wanted  to 
help  the  conversation. 

"  Then  he  went  on  to  add  that  he  was  glad  I 
understood,  because  he  was  not  sure  his  thought 
had  been  clear  even  to  himself,  but  that,  after  all, 
perplexity  was  the  father  of  discovery ;  upon  which 
I  conversationally  collapsed  and  asked  him  what 
was  its  grandmother. 

"  We  both  laughed  at  that,  and  then  we  had  a 
really  pleasant  talk,  because  he  was  reading  Rus- 
kin,  you  know,  —  the  first  volume." 

"  No,  I  do  not ;  but  that  does  n't  matter." 

"  Oh  !  I  forgot  two  things.  Mr.  —  I  mean 
Uncle  John  —  is  coming  to  see  you.  There  will 
be  quite  a  levee.  I  thought  that  perhaps  if  you 
knew  him  you  would  let  me  go  over  to  the  beaches 
with  him ;  and  I  must  see  the  beaches." 

"And  what  else?" 

"  There  is  a  letter  from  Mr.  Pennell.  Shall  I 
read  it  to  you?" 

"  Yes,  dear." 

"  Addenda  !     How  did  he  get  that  name  ?    I 


230  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

wish  Octopia  would  marry  him :  I  should  love  to 
call  her  Mrs.  Addenda  Pennell." 

"  Do  go  on,  child.  I  never  heard  your  tongue 
run  at  such  a  rate." 

"  Well,  Addenda  says :  — 

"  DEAR  Miss  WYNNE,  —  I  inclose  draft  on  the 
Cape  May  Bank  as  desired.  Please  acknowledge. 
Miss  Darnell  is  looking  better,  but  is,  quite  natu- 
rally, I  think,  irritated  at  your  desire  to  get  away 
from  her.  You  will  permit  me  to  say,  as  an  old 
friend,  that  the  more  I  think  it  over  the  less  does 
it  seem  to  me  quite  right.  I  should  be  a  great 
deal  more  comfortable  if  you  would  allow  me  to 
tell  her  where  you  are.  I  rather  hastily  agreed  to 
keep  her  in  ignorance,  and  have  kept  my  word ; 
but  it  will  of  course  be  as  difficult  as  it  would  be 
unkind  to  continue  to  do  so.  She  has  been  a  good 
friend  to  you  and  yours ;  and  while  I  can  see  that 
the  irritability  caused  by  her  long  ill  health  may 
have  been  too  much  for  you  to  bear  and  may  have 
made  temporary  absence  desirable,  I  cannot  think 
that  your  way  of  getting  it  was  wise  or  quite  kind. 

"  Pray  forgive  my  freedom  of  speech,  and  think 
it  over  afresh,  and  perhaps  after  a  talk  with  your 
grandmother  you  may  agree  with  me.  I  may  il- 
lustrate the  absurdity  of  the  situation  by  telling 
you  that  a  Mr.  Blake  —  one  of  the  well-known 
Portsmouth  family  —  came  here  to  ask  where  he 
could  find  your  grandmother.  As  I  always  keep 
my  word,  I  was  put  in  the  ridiculous  position  of 
having  to  say  I  knew,  but  could  not  tell  him.  1 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  231 

think  he  discovered  soon,  after  all,  about  your 
present  residence.  You  can  now  see  how  odd  the 
whole  affair  must  seem  to  a  stranger. 

"  Miss  Darnell  desires  her  love  to  you  and  to 
Mrs.  Wynne,  and  begs  me  to  add  that,  while  she 
misses  greatly  your  gentle  care,  she  is  too  self-re- 
spectful to  make  any  further  effort  to  find  you. 
Mr.  Darnell  is  still  with  her. 

"  Yrs.,  with  esteem  and  respect, 

"  A.  PENNELL." 

"  It  is  exactly  as  I  told  you  it  would  be,  Olive," 
said  Mrs.  Wynne.  "  Of  course  Octopia  feels  hurt 
about  Richard." 

"And  how  can  I  help  that?  I  may  be  sorry 
for  her"  (she  did  not  say  she  was),  "but  I  cannot 
help  her." 

"  Well,  I  never  could  quite  understand  why  you 
disliked  him  so  much." 

"  But  I  only  did  not  like  him.  I  did  not  dislike 
him." 

"  Well,  it  amounted  to  the  same  thing,"  said 
Mrs.  Wynne,  with  the  persistency  of  decrepit 
logic.  "  And  now  we  have  made  an  enemy  of 
your  cousin.  As  to  her  being  really  in  earnest  in 
her  threats  and  her  willfulness,  I  don't  believe  it. 
Octopia  is  not  a  bad  woman,  Olivia,  but  when  a 
woman  suffers  as  she  does,  the  pain  seems  to  tie 
her  fast  to  herself,  so  that  the  rights  of  well  peo- 
ple seem  very  unimportant.  Pain  does  make 
people  selfish,  my  dear." 

The  speech  was  long  and  the  reflections  unu- 


232  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

sual  to  Olive's  experience  of  her  old  relative  ;  but 
they  did  not  shake  the  younger  woman's  opinions. 
Octopia  was  of  course  more  or  less  an  enigma  to 
one  so  inexperienced  and  who  could  not  guess  how 
immensely  her  cousin  was  influenced  in  her  recent 
conduct  by  overwhelming  affection  for  her  brother. 
Nor  did  the  girl  value  herself  enough  as  yet  to 
appreciate  the  passion  which  her  attractiveness 
aroused  in  a  man  like  Darnell.  She  was  utterly 
free  from  that  vanity  which  society  so  readily  culti- 
vates in  the  genial  soil  of  feminine  natures.  We 
may  be  permitted  to  doubt  if  Eve  was  born  vain. 

Olivia  had  often  found  it  safe  to  advocate  de- 
lay, since  for  Mrs.  Wynne  it  was  always  easier 
to  provide  for  to-morrow's  wants  than  for  to-day's 
demands,  and  she  thought  of  next  week  as  the 
least  importunate  of  creditors. 

"  On  the  whole,  Olive,  I  think  we  might  wait 
a  little,"  she  said  ;  "  and,  as  Mr.  Pennell  has  prom- 
ised a  visit,  you  might  ask  him  to  come  soon  and 
then  we  could  talk  it  all  over." 

Meanwhile,  Olivia's  mind  was  much  more  im- 
mediately intent  on  the  few  words  about  Blake, 
which  enormously  excited  her  curiosity  and  of 
which  she  expected  her  grandmother  to  speak  next. 
Before,  however,  that  matter  could  be  in  turn  dis- 
cussed, a  knock  was  heard  at  the  door,  and  there 
entered  a  rather  weather-worn  maid,  who  usually 
while  she  waited  on  table  hummed  a  Methodist 
hymn-tune  to  a  Castanet  accompaniment  of  clatter- 
ing plates  and  dishes. 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  233 

"  The  young  man  down-stairs  that  came  yester- 
day —  his  name  I  disremember,"  —  a  word  which 
ought  to  be  in  better  society,  —  "  might  he  come 
up  and  see  you,  ma'am  ?  " 

Before  the  two  ladies  had  leisure  further  to  con- 
sider what  his  errand  might  be,  Roland  Blake  en- 
tered. Mrs.  Wynne  had  but  time  to  secure  her 
carved  Chinese  fan  and  to  ruffle  her  gloves  down 
at  the  wrists. 

As  she  stood  in  the  rather  dim  little  white-pan- 
eled room,  before  the  fireplace  filled  with  hazy 
tops  of  asparagus  stems  gay  with  red  berries,  she 
looked,  despite  her  slight  figure,  a  lady  of  the 
larger  world.  What  with  the  lace  and  the  gray 
hair  falling  straight  below  it  on  the  forehead,  the 
thin  gray  side  curls,  the  bare  arms  and  white 
gloves,  she  seemed  to  Blake  to  resemble  the  fairy 
godmother  of  a  French  tale.  He  said  afterwards 
/that  he  fell  in  love  with  her  when  she  made  him 
v  a  courtesy. 

"  I  ventured  to  ask  if  I  might  call  to  see  you, 
madam,  because  it  occurred  to  me  that  as  we  are 
both  of  Portsmouth  birth  I  should  not  be  looked 
upon  as  an  entire  stranger." 

"  If  you  are  Roland  Blake's  grandson  I  am  more 
than  glad  to  see  you.  Your  mother  was  a  Sher- 
bourne,  I  think.  If  you  are  not  a  brave  soldier 
and  a  good  man  you  are  no  Blake." 

Roland  smiled.  He  liked  the  pretty  little  flat- 
tery of  these  old-fashioned  forms  of  compliment. 

"  Thank    you,    Madam    Wynne,   for    all    the 


234  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

Blakes,"  he  returned,  smiling.  "  My  mother  was 
Ann  Sherbourne." 

"  You  call  me  Madam  Wynne.  Once  every 
one  called  me  Madam  Wynne.  I  shall  begin  to 
think  you  very  aged,  sir."  It  was  pleasant  to  see 
the  old  lady's  fine  manner  as  she  talked. 

"  You  are  not  forgotten  in  Portsmouth  yet,"  he 
said.  "  People  still  talk  about  Madam  Wynne  ; 
but  until  within  a  few  days  I  was  stupid  enough 
not  to  identify  you  with  my  old  home." 

She  had  stood  but  a  moment.  "  Sit  down," 
she  said,  —  "a  little  nearer,  please.  I  want  to  see 
if  you  are  like  your  mother."  And  she  looked  at 
him  steadily,  to  Olivia's  amusement.  "  No  ;  you 
favor  the  Blakes  ;  but  you  are  not  as  handsome 
as  your  grandfather  was." 

"  But  I  have  the  advantage  of  being  alive  and 
of  seeing  you  to-day,  which  is  only  a  just  compen- 
sation," he  returned. 

Olivia  thought  he  talked  like  a  gentleman  of 
her  grandmother's  time,  —  which  was  true  for  the 
moment.  He  was  himself  unconscious  of  possess- 
ing that  rare  form  of  courtliness  which  makes 
every  woman  the  queen  of  the  moment. 

"  I  see,"  said  Mrs.  Wynne,  toying  with  her 
ivory  fan,  "  that  you  have  inherited  some  of  the 
ways  of  those  dangerous  ancestors  of  yours.  I  am 
so  old  that  I  can  say  I  like  you,  Roland  Blake. 
Now  I  am  tired.  Come  and  see  me  again." 

Roland  rose,  bowed,  said  a  word  or  two  of  of- 
fered service,  and  left  the  room. 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  235 

"  Why,  grandmamma,  you  did  not  say  a  word 
about  why  Mr.  Blake  wished  to  see  you ;  and  I 
am  dying  of  curiosity." 

"  My  dear  Olive,  I  forgot  it.  However,  it  can 
wait.  I  will  ask  him  to-morrow.  I  like  the  young 
man ;  he  has  good  manners.  All  those  Blakes 
were  nice  people.  And  now  you  had  better  write 
to  Mr.  Pennell ;  you  need  not  mention  Octopia ; 
and  then,  dear,  I  should  like  a  little  reading." 

Before  Olivia  had  written  a  line  they  were  in- 
terrupted by  a  second  knock.  "  Uncle  John  Les- 
lie, —  might  he  come  in  ?  "  Mrs.  Wynne  thought 
he  might,  if  he  did  not  stay  long. 

Despite  much  experience,  Uncle  John  knocked 
his  head  against  the  door-lintel,  —  which  never 
ceased  to  astonish  him.  He  seemed  to  fill  the 
room,  —  a  great  man  with  close  cropped  gray  hair 
and  a  nose  like  a  headland. 

The  old  lady  said,  "  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Les- 
lie ?  "  and  for  a  moment  her  hand  was  lost  in  the 
huge  brown  freckled  paw  which  frankly  sought 
her  grasp. 

"  I  guessed,  marm,"  said  he,  "  as  the  young 
lady  was  wantin'  to  go  round  with  me  a  bit,  you 
might  like  to  see  me ;  not  as  I'm  much  to  see 
'ceptin'  for  bigness."  And  he  laughed. 

The  old  lady  looked  him  over  coolly.  She  was 
getting  to  be  very  much  more  alive  than  she  had 
been. 

•*  I  think  I  may  trust  you,"  she  said. 

"  Jus'  you  leave  her  to  me,  marm.  There  shan't 
no  mawsel  of  harm  come  to  her." 


236  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"  And  what  are  your  terms,  Mr.  Leslie  ?  of 
course  I  cannot  expect  you  to  give  us  your  time 
for  nothing." 

Uncle  John  smiled  all  over  his  hairy  brown 
face.  "  Guess  I  '11  take  it  out  in  eddication,  marm. 
She  did  tell  me  she  knowed  French." 

Mrs.  Wynne  did  not  like  jokes  from  her  infe- 
riors. "  I  do  not  understand  you,"  she  said. 

Olivia,  who  was  quick  and  tactful,  interposed, 
"  Uncle  John  and  I  will  arrange  all  that  on  the 
'  mashes.'  Isn't  that  good  Jersey,  Uncle  John  ?  " 
The  captain  hospitably  distributed  another  ample 
laugh  to  his  entire  economy ;  Mrs.  Wynne  said, 
"  Very  well :  arrange  it,  dear,  as  you  please ;  " 
and  then  at  last  the  letter  was  written. 

A  few  days  later  Roland  Blake  wrote  to 
Francis :  — 

MY  DEAB  PHIL,  —  I  begin  to  think  the  world 
a  very  amusing  place,  despite  your  melancholic 
calumnies.  There  is  no  need  to  squint  it  into 
duplicity.  I  greatly  regret  that  you  are  not  to 
join  me  sooner.  There  is  some  fishing,  —  poor 
fun  at  best  after  a  man  has  once  handled  a  salmon. 
As  to  shooting,  you  can  get  a  few  beach-birds,  if 
you  want  them.  For  my  part,  I  am  given  over  to 
a  love-affair  with  my  Lady  Nature,  who  smiles  at 
me  from  the  skies  and  blushes  for  me  in  the  sun- 
sets, and  bedecks  herself  with  autumn  primroses 
and  golden-rods,  and  yesterday  scolded  in  an  east 
wind.  How  fair  and  peaceful  it  is,  and  how  far 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  237 

away  from  the  horrors  of  that  dreadful  "  Angle  " 
at  Spottsylvania !  I  shudder,  remembering  it,  to 
think  how  close  to  the  devil  our  highest  duties 
bring  us.  Every  angel  seems  to  me  to  have  a 
twin  fiend.  How  glad  I  am  to  be  done  with  the 
war  business  I  can  hardly  say,  nor  how  sadly  I 
think  of  the  poor  fellows  who  fought  us  so  well. 

There  is  no  one  here  except,  by  strange 
chance,  an  old  lady  named  Wynne,  who  comes 
from  Portsmouth,  and  who  is  the  same  person  you 
came  upon  in  your  little  adventure  in  New  York. 
Her  granddaughter  is  with  her,  a  tall  girl,  rather 
quaintly  formal  at  times  and  at  others  queerly 
frank.  She  is  a  rather  interesting  and  perplexing 
combination  of  child  and  woman;  yet  she  must 
be,  I  should  guess,  at  least  nineteen.  She  knows 
/  more  of  books  than  of  people,  but  is  so  intelligent 
V  that  I  can  hardly  describe  her  as  an  ingenue.  I 
fancy  she  must  have  lived  a  good  deal  out  of  the 
world,  and  yet  in  cities.  It  is  quite  delightful  to 
see  how  she  absorbs  the  loveliness  of  nature  about 
us,  as  if  it  were  an  interesting  book  and  old  Time 
were  standing  by  like  a  lover  to  turn  the  pages. 
It  is  a  drawback  that  she  is  related  to  that  fellow 
Darnell.  However,  I  forget  always  that  I  talk 
and  must  talk  enigmatically  when  I  speak  of  him 
to  you,  and  indeed  to  any  one.  Should  he  by  any 
chance  turn  up  here,  it  will  be  —  well,  very  un- 
pleasant ;  but  when  you  come  I  will  try  to  talk  to 
you  a  little  more  freely.  Why  not  bring  Miss 
Francis  down  with  you  ?  Yours,  R.  B. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

"  The  punishment  of  another  life  may  be  to  know  too  much." 

"  Truth  could  not  speak  to  me  with  truer  tongue. 
When  lore  doth  lay  his  hand  on  age's  heart, 
The  music  that  it  beats  is  more  eternal 
Than  all  the  feverish  trumpetings  of  youth 
That  would  out-protest  nature." 

WHILE  Roland  Blake  was  studying  nature  in 
more  fashions  than  he  was  well  aware  of,  Octopia 
had  reached  a  comparatively  tranquil  state  of 
mind.  She  was  not  capable  of  prolonged  anger, 
and  what  temptation  the  savagery  of  this  passion 
brought  her  was  brief.  Moreover,  her  brother 
was  becoming  again,  as  he  had  often  been  before, 
a  source  of  grave  anxiety.  The  war  being  over, 
he  was  enabled  to  go  about  as  freely  as  he  pleased, 
and  this  unchecked  liberty  had  been  serious 
enough  in  its  consequences. 

He  threw  himself  on  a  lounge  one  evening  in 
his  sister's  room,  and  said,  "  Octy,  I  am  out  of 
money." 

"  Out  of  money !  "  she  said.  "  Why,  Dick,  I 
gave  you  a  hundred  dollars  last  week.  And  you 
said  that  you  were  about  to  receive  the  money 
you  left  in  Virginia." 

"  And  what  then,  Octy  ?  " 

"  How  did  you  get  two  thousand  dollars,  Dick  ? 
I  forgot  to  ask  you." 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  239 

He  hesitated,  as  he  always  did  about  lying :  it 
was  curiously  disagreeable  to  him,  —  perhaps  be- 
cause he  connected  it  with  ideas  of  cowardice. 

"  Well,  I  won  it  at  play." 

She  was  too  shrewd  to  believe  this.  "  For 
shame,  Dick  !  "  she  said.  "  Nonsense  !  " 

He  had  to  say  something,  and  he  was  of  course 
unable  to  tell  her  the  hideous  truth. 

"Well,  why  not,  Octy?" 

"  Money  was  not  so  plenty  in  our  poor  Vir- 
ginia." 

"  Then,  if  you  must  know,  it  was  money  which 
was  to  have  paid  for  my  journey  to  England." 

"  But  I  thought  that  had  been  given  up.  You 
said  so." 

"  Only  postponed  ;  and  I  had  not  turned  in  the 
cash  again  :  my  capture,  you  see,  prevented  it." 

" But  you  surely  did  not  spend  that  money? " 

"  Yes.  I  succeeded  in  getting  it  sent  to  me : 
one  of  my  friends  had  it  in  his  care  when  I  went 
to  the  army ;  and,  if  you  must  know,  I  spent  it  — 
lost  it  —  in  the  Gold  Koom." 

«  Oh,  Dick  !  " 

"  Really,  Octy,  you  are  wonderful !  Do  you 
suppose  I  meant  to  turn  it  over  to  Uncle  Sam  ?  " 

The  ethical  situation  perplexed  her,  as  hei  had 
meant  it  should. 

"  I  wish  you  had  not  done  it." 

"  Better  luck  next  time." 

"  And  what  now  ?  What  do  you  mean  to  do  ? 
I  have  still  about  five  thousand  dollars.  My  small 


240  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

reserve  of  money  in  bank  has  almost  gone.  It  is 
slipping  through  my  fingers  and  slipping  out  of 
yours  as  fast  as  you  get  it." 

"  Yes,  I  have  had  bad  fortune." 

"And  worse  management.  If  you  were  even 
reasonably  prudent  I  feel  sure  that  you  could 
marry  Olivia.  You  are  fast  making  it  impossi- 
ble." 

"  I  did  my  best.  I  really  do  care  for  that  girl ; 
but  no  man  can  force  a  woman  to  marry  him,  and, 
after  all,  you  promised  a  great  deal  and  did  very 
little.  If  you  have  any  real  influence  over  that 
fool  of  an  old  woman,  you  might  have  used  it.  I 
don't  believe  it  amounts  to  anything  after  all." 

"  You  are  mistaken." 

"  Then  use  it.  We  know  now  where  they  are, 
and  it  must  be  clear  enough  to  you  that  we  can't 
live  on  air." 

"  I  am  willing  enough  to  try  again ;  but  I  must 
feel  a  little  more  certain  of  how  we  stand." 

She  believed  at  present  that  she  had  never 
meant  to  use  the  secret  she  possessed  further  than 
to  secure  her  a  home  and  indulgence  in  her  crav- 
ing for  power  and  devotion,  and  at  least  the  easily 
believed  show  of  affection  desired  by  such  invalids 
as  she. 

When  her  too  eager  greed  for  sway  and  sym- 
pathy began  to  fail  of  response,  she  had  found  it 
needful,  in  her  quite  gentle  deprecatory  way,  to 
remind  Mrs.  Wynne  and  at  last  Olivia  of  their 
debt  to  her.  Then  came  the  fiercer  temptation 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  241 

to  assist  her  brother's  love-affair,  and  she  began 
to  substitute  threats  for  mere  hints,  always  reserv- 
ing to  herself  the  power  to  withdraw,  and  never 
truly  resolute  to  use  implacably  the  weapon  she 
carried.  She  had  been  selling  her  soul  in  frac- 
tions, but  was  irresolute  as  to  completing  the  trans- 
action. 

At  last  she  said,  "  And  what  is  it  you  want, 
Dick  ?  " 

"I  want  that  woman,  because  I  love  her; 
that  is  what  I  want.  I  want  money  for  you  and 
for  me,  and  I  must  have  it.  Mrs.  Wynne  has  far 
more  than  she  can  need ;  you  and  I  have  nothing. 
It  appears  to  me,  Octy,  that  the  problem  is  of  the 
utmost  simplicity.  If  I  had  ten  or  fifteen  thousand 
dollars  I  could  use  it  so  as  to  make  us  both  rich. 
Now  is  the  time." 

The  cynical  coolness  of  his  statement  appalled 
his  sister.  Until  of  late  she  had  clung  to  the 
belief  that  although  wild,  reckless,  and  master- 
ful he  was  free  from  the  baser  vices.  She  shud- 
dered as  she  realized  what  she  had  done  to  tempt 
him. 

"  And  how  do  you  propose,  Dick,  to  get  ten 
thousand  dollars  ?  Gratitude  goes  for  little  when 
one  comes  to  ask  for  its  equivalent  in  coin.  If 
you  or  I  were  to  say  to  Mrs.  Wynne,  '  Lend  us 
ten  thousand  dollars,'  —  I  don't  say  'give it,'  I 
never  will  do  that;  but  'lend  it,' — she  would 
laugh  in  your  face." 

"  Not  if  I  knew  what  you  say  you  know.     By 


242  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

George  !  I  have  half  a  mind  to  try  what  the  mere 
threat  will  do." 

" Dick,"  she  said,  starting  up,  "you  can't  mean 
it!" 

"  Why  not  ?  I  am  at  my  wits'  end.  I  must 
live.  I  can't  work.  If  you  never  desired  it,  why 
the  deuce  did  you  suggest  it?  The  fact  is,  you 
would  like  to  do  it  and  are  afraid." 

She  looked  at  him  steadily.  He  was  flushed. 
Had  he  been  drinking  ?  It  accounted  to  her  in 
some  degree  for  his  unusual  bluntness.  A  new 
agony  was  on  her. 

"  Dick,  Dick,"  she  said,  and  choked,  so  that  she 
ceased  to  speak  and  merely  held  him  by  the 
sleeve,  —  "  you  could  not,  Dick !  — you  cannot !  I 
have  been  wrong,  —  wicked  !  Don't  say  I  tempted 
you  ;  that  is  too  dreadful.  And  —  and  —  what  I 
do  does  n't  matter ;  but  you,  —  a  Darnell,  a  gentle- 
man !  Dick,  tell  me  you  won't.  I  will  do  any- 
thing for  you.  Only  say  you  did  not  mean  it." 

The  crime  she  herself  had  contemplated  in  his 
interest  and  her  own  became  to  her  monstrous 
when  he  himself  proposed  to  enact  it.  Her  char- 
ity had  always  covered  his  sins,  but  now  at  last  it 
was  no  longer  possible.  Shuddering  she  turned 
from  the  naked  crime  she  could  no  longer  hide 
with  excuses. 

He  certainly  understood  her  but  too  well.  It 
emphasized  his  own  irregular  knowledge  of  his 
degradation  that  she  should  so  clearly  see  it.  Nor 
was  it  his  wish  to  alarm  her.  In  her  excitements 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  243 

she  was  heroically  capable,  —  a  woman  of  ex- 
tremes. He  had  known  her  to  go  to  strange 
lengths.  He  rarely  drank,  but  to-day  her  suspi- 
cion was  correct.  It  had  made  him  rough  and 
careless. 

He  tried  the  old  plan  of  affectionate  demonstra- 
tion. She  would  none  of  it.  "  I  must  know," 
she  said,  "  I  must  know  clearly  what  you  mean  to 
do.  I  will  not  help  you." 

"  Then,"  said  he,  coldly,  "  the  sooner  we  part 
the  better.  I  may  as  well  speak  out,  I  suppose. 
I  have  spent  my  money,  and  I  owe  a  lot  in  Wall 
Street.  Half  of  what  you  have  will  not  pay  it, 
and  the  Yankee  sharpers  may  whistle  for  it,  as  far 
as  I  am  concerned.  As  to  the  Wynnes,  they  have 
treated  you  disgracefully,  and  I  do  not  see  why 
you  need  be  so  careful  of  their  feelings.  I  at  least 
do  not  mean  to  be." 

She  sat  up,  a  stern  look  on  her  Italian  face. 

"  You  mean  to  threaten  Mrs.  Wynne  in  order 
to  get  this  money  ?  " 

"  I  have  some  such  idea." 

"  Then  I  will  not  let  you  do  this  sin.  If  I  have 
been  wicked,  I  cannot  bear  that  you  should  be. 
Oh,  that  —  that  is  my  cruellest  punishment." 

"And  how  do  you  propose,  my  most  suddenly 
virtuous  sister,  to  stop  me  ?  " 

"  How  ?  how  ?  "  she  cried,  wildly,  starting  up 
to  her  full  height,  the  warning  sibyl  not  more 
grand.  "I  —  I  have  lied  to  you.  It  is  not  true. 
There  is  nothing  in  it.  I  merely  made  believe  I 


244  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

had  power  over  them.  I  —  I  thought  —  oh,  can't 
you  see  what  stuff  it  was  ?  How  could  I  know 
anything  ?  Why,  you  were  silly,  Dick !  "  And 
she  laughed  hysterically. 

"  Pshaw,  Octy  I  do  you  suppose  me  to  be  an 
idiot?  You  were  a  little  too  mysterious  about 
old  Arthur  Wynne  when  you  were  here  with  him  : 
I  suspected  something  then  ;  now  I  know." 

"  What  do  you  know  ?  You  know  nothing.  I 
will  say  it  is  a  lie.  I  lied.  I  tell  you  I  lied.  I 
will  say  so  to  everybody." 

"  My  dear  sister,  you  have  been  educating  Mrs. 
Wynne  too  long  for  any  such  nonsense.  There 
was  something  wrong  with  Arthur  Wynne  and  his 
affairs,  of  that  I  am  sure  enough ;  and  it  will  be 
all  I  need  to  know.  Would  n't  it  be  better  if  we 
made  common  cause?  But  if  you  will  not  aid 
me  I  shall  act  alone.  Now,  why  not  tell  me  sensi- 
bly all  that  you  know,  like  a  good  girl  ?  " 

"  My  God !  "  she  exclaimed ;  "  like  a  good 
girl!" 

"  Oh,  damn  it,  then,  like  a  bad  one." 

Octopia  looked  pitifully  down  at  the  manly  fig- 
ure, the  flushed  face,  the  rather  delicate  nose  she 
had  always  said  was  so  high-bred,  the  too  eager, 
restless  eyes.  It  was  a  moment  of  surpassing  ag- 
ony, on  which  be  sure  some  pitying  angel  gazed 
sadly. 

"  Brother,  you  have  broken  my  heart.  Tell  me 
you  will  not  do  this  thing.  Take  all  I  have, — 
take  everything ;  I  shall  not  care.  If  I  had  a 
million  I  would  give  it  to  you." 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  245 

"  Oh,  Octy,  what  on  earth  is  the  use  of  making 
a  fuss  over  it?  Suppose  we  just  drop  it  for  to- 
day?" 

She  had  begun  to  know  him,  alas !  too  well. 

"  No,"  she  said ;  "  I  must  know." 

"  Well,  I  promise  you  I  will  do  nothing  for  a 
week  or  two.  Could  you  let  me  have  a  little 
money  ?  " 

"Anything,"  she  said,  drearily,  and  went  slowly 
to  her  room. 

Presently  she  came  back  and  put  her  check- 
book on  the  table.  Standing  beside  it,  she  said, 
"  Please  to  fill  in  the  check.  I  can't  write :  my 
hand  shakes." 

It  would  be  hard  to  say  why  this  troubled 
him,  but  it  did.  He  sat  down.  "  I  don't  want 
much,"  he  said. 

"  Fill  it  for  a  hundred  dollars,  Dick."  He  did 
so.  She  took  the  seat  he  vacated,  and  writing 
slowly,  signed  the  check,  scrupulously  used  the 
blotter,  and  made  entry  of  the  amount  drawn, 
finding  some  assistance  in  this  mechanical  repeti- 
tion of  the  ordinary  little  routine. 

"Thank  you,  Octy,"  he  said,  kissing  her. 

"  You  are  welcome,  I  suppose,"  she  replied,  and 
could  not  help  adding,  "  I  have  thirty-five  dollars 
left  for  expenses." 

"  But  you  told  me  you  had  five  thousand  dol- 
lars." 

"  I  have  still  four  thousand  in  Mr.  Pennell's 
hands.  He  pays  me  interest.  I  have  drawn  in 


246  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

two  weeks  nearly  five  hundred.  You  best  know, 
Dick,  where  it  has  gone.  I  don't  grudge  it ;  I  am 
only  explaining." 

In  fact,  she  was  by  temperament  prodigal,  and 
did  not  value  money.  She  was  sinking  in  a  hope- 
less quagmire  of  self-abasement  and  despair,  so 
that  gold  had  for  her  no  more  physical  value 
than  it  has  for  the  wretch  alone  in  mid-Atlantic 
surges. 

"  I  did  n't  want  to  take  so  much,"  he  said,  "  I 
shall  return  it  some  day,  and  pretty  soon,  too." 

Darnell  felt  the  petty  meanness  of  his  recent 
calls  on  her  slender  resources,  being  more  open 
to  small  remorses  than  to  great  ones.  He  had 
the  unthinking  physical  courage  of  a  panther, 
with  some  educated  disinclination  to  oppress  the 
weak  or  to  take  small  dishonorable  advantages  at 
play  or  in  the  formal  duels  in  which  he  had  been 
more  than  once  engaged.  He  was,  of  course, 
undergoing  slow  molecular  moral  disintegration, 
but  as  yet  he  found  greater  temptings  in  large 
wickedness  than  in  small  baseness.  There  are 
men  who  will  murder,  but  will  not  lie,  who  may 
be  guilty  of  astounding  betrayals,  but  would  not 
rob  a  till.  In  crime  the  greater  does  not  always 
involve  the  less,  and  the  amount  of  temptation 
scarcely  answers  to  explain  the  idiosyncrasies  of 
criminal  natures. 

When  he  said  he  was  sorry  and  would  soon  re- 
turn the  money,  he  meant  it  for  the  minute ;  for 
what  hope  is  like  the  gambler's,  which  finds  food 
in  failure  ? 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  247 

"  Well,  never  mind,"  she  returned,  in  the  same 
dull  monotone  she  had  used  throughout  the  last 
sad  minutes  of  their  talk.  "  It  does  n't  matter. 
My  money  is  your  money.  As  it  always  was,  so 
it  always  will  be." 

"  I  will  not  ask  you  for  another  cent,  Octy." 

"  I  told  you,  Dick,  that  I  did  not  care  about 
that.  It  is  your  threat  that  troubles  me." 

"  I  don't  mean  it  to  disturb  you.  After  all,  it 
was  only  a  wild  scheme  of  mine  to  make  these 
people  put  their  gratitude  in  a  tangible  form.  We 
won't  talk  about  it  any  more." 

"Very  well,"  she  said;  but  she  observed  that 
he  had  not  said  he  would  not  go  on  with  the  wick- 
edness to  which  she  had  in  a  measure  lured  him. 
He  kissed  her  again,  and  went  out,  leaving  her 
physically  exhausted. 

She  sat  where  he  left  her,  thinking  fruitlessly 
of  her  innocent  girlhood,  and  tried  to  go  forward 
from  those  happier  days  and  explain  to  herself 
how  she  had  fallen  as  she  had  done.  But  honest 
self-analysis  is  always  too  pitiless  a  task  to  be 
easy  for  women  of  her  sensitive  temperament.  If 
only  she  could  have  thrown  herself  on  some  good 
woman's  breast  and  sobbed  out  her  confession  of 
sgrets,  remorses,  and  sorrowful  disappointments, 
it  would  have  been  what  she  needed.  There  was 
no  one  she  could  seek,  and  her  religion  had  been 
but  a  form,  and  was  commonly  put  away  like  a 
marker  between  the  leaves  of  her  prayer-book. 

Why  confession  to  another  should  be  comfort- 


248  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

ing  is  as  yet  one  of  the  unanswered  questions  of 

V    the  human  heart.     The  mere  telling  of  a  thing, 

be  it  large  or  little,  is  pleasurable  to  the  mass  of 

mankind.     The  instinct  which  makes  us  chatter 

forth  our  useless  comments  on  the  trifles  of  the 

day  bids  speak  the  poet  and  the  preacher.     His- 

J    tory  counts  as  few  the  heroes  who  could  hold  their 

tongues,  and  even  crime  distests  the  loneliness  of 

silence. 

Octopia  did  not  believe  that  her  brother's  calls 
upon  her  would  cease,  as  he  had  promised.  The 
knowledge  that  there  was  money  within  his  reach 
had  always  been  too  much  for  Darnell  to  resist  in 
his  better  days ;  and  now,  no  consideration  was 
likely  to  stand  long  in  his  way.  A  fortnight 
passed  by,  however,  before  he  again  drew  upon 
her  slender  purse,  when  he  explained  that  he  had 
had  a  little  good  luck,  —  for  which,  as  he  had 
been  tranquil  in  the  mean  while,  his  sister  felt 
sadly  thankful,  —  but  that  now  he  really  must  ask 
her  for  a  thousand  dollars. 

At  first  she  declared  that  it  was  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. He  then  told  her  that  he  now  knew  Mrs. 
Wynne  to  be  near  or  at  Cape  May,  because,  hav- 
ing called  on  Mr.  Pennell  a  few  days  before,  he 
had  been  told  by  an  unwarned  and  incautious 
clerk  that  he  had  gone  to  Cape  May  to  see  Mi-s. 
Wynne. 

Octopia  had  little  doubt  that  he  was  correct  in 
his  guess,  and  was  soon  made  to  feel  that  what  he 
said  to  her  was  a  hint  that  he  meant  to  see  Mrs. 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  249 

Wynne  in  case  of  need.  She  said  he  should  have 
the  money ;  and  in  answer  to  a  note  Mr.  Pennell 
appeared  that  evening  in  her  drawing-room.  He 
had  seen  her  once  or  twice  since  his  last  visit,  to 
arrange  some  matters  in  regard  to  Mrs.  Wynne's 
furniture,  and  nothing  more  had  passed  between 
them  as  to  the  affairs  discussed  when  last  they 
met. 

She  came  down  presently.  "  You  are  very  kind 
to  be  so  prompt,"  she  said.  "  I  am  used  now  to 
unkindness,  and  I  really  feel  the  friendliness  of  an 
immediate  call  from  so  busy  a  man." 

Her  soft  voice  and  a  certain  graciousness  of 
manner  put  him  at  his  ease ;  but  his  last  rebuff 
had  left  him  shy  and  doubtful. 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  so  very  busy.  I  do  hope  you 
feel  that  you  may  count  on  my  being  always  at 
your  service." 

"  Not  always,"  she  said,  smiling  ;  "  but  now 
that  I  know  where  Mrs.  Wynne  is,  I  shall  quite 
forgive  you."  She  could  not  resist  this  little  show 
of  power. 

He  answered  promptly,  "  I  am  glad  you  do 
know.  I  considered  the  whole  thing  very  —  well, 
very  inconsiderate,  and  perhaps  I  might  even  say 
foolish ;  but,  after  all,  you  must  see  that  I  had  no 
resource  except  to  say  I  would  not  tell.  I  owe  a 
great  deal  to  the  Wynne  family.  I  could  not  do 
otherwise  than  I  did.  I  should  have  told  you  in 
a  few  days,  however." 
J  "  Mrs.  Wynne  may  rest  easy.  I  shall  not  trou- 


250  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

ble  her.  I  certainly  did  not  look  for  the  treat- 
ment I  have  received.  If  at  any  time  she  had 
allowed  me  to  see  that  I  was  unwelcome,  I  should 
have  been  spared  some  pain." 

"  It  was  certainly  very  strange." 

"  It  has  but  one  good  effect,  Mr.  Pennell :  it 
makes  your  constant  kindness  to  me  in  these  last 
few  years  seem  the  more  valuable  because  you  at 
least  owe  me  nothing,  —  or  even  less  than  noth- 
ing," she  added,  faintly  blushing. 

Almost  without  consciousness  of  the  fact,  she 
was  using  her  undoubted  grace  of  voice  and  per- 
son. In  her  recent  intercourse  with  Pennell  she 
had  hurt  her  own  self-esteem,  —  that  quality  which 
answers  for  conscience  in  the  selfish,  —  and  had 
shocked  a  man  whose  respect  she  desired,  just  as 
she  more  or  less  craved  some  contribution  from 
all  who  came  near  her.  Aware  of  the  flush  on 
her  face,  she  took  up  her  fan  and  used  it  for  a 
moment  with  nervous  vigor,  as  Pennell's  embar- 
rassment returned. 

"  It  is  hardly  worth  while,"  he  said,  "  to  discuss 
such  very  small  debts  as  —  as  yours  to  me.  After 
what  happened  when  —  I  mean,  I  misunderstood 
you, — oh,  yes,  I  have  been  thinking  about  it, 
and  I  am  quite  sure  I  misunderstood  you,  —  I 
hardly  could  hope  you  would  ever  send  for  me 
again  or  ask  any  service  of  me." 

His  eyes  rose  timidly  from  her  slender  feet  and 
dainty  slippers  to  the  face  almost  joyously  lit  up 
by  large  -  eyed  illumination  as  he  spoke.  She 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  251 

liked  the  words,  and  felt  pleased  at  being  made 
sure  that  she  had  not  lost  a  subject's  reverent 
homage ;  yet,  knowing  men,  she  had  a  sudden  de- 
sire to  ascertain  if  he  honestly  believed  what  he 
said.  Had  she  not  had  for  him  some  ample  leaven 
of  strong  liking,  she  would  not  have  cared.  A 
mob  of  liliputian  motives  assailed  her, —  a  sense  of 
relief  in  his  good  opinion,  a  faint  shame  at  unmer- 
ited praise,  a  little  dislike  to  being  patronized  by 
Addenda  Pennell's  goodness,  a  mean  pride  which 
sought  to  prefer  to  justify  the  evil  she  had  meant 
rather  than  to  accept  his  explanation. 

She  hesitated,  now  smiling,  and  at  last  grave. 
In  this  little  heart  -  parliament  many  speakers 
claimed  the  floor.  At  last,  as  he  sat  in  wonder  at 
her  silence,  she  said,  proudly,  — 

"  You  are  wrong.  I  cannot  have  you  think 
that  you  misunderstood  me.  I  was  angry  with 
Mrs.  Wynne,  and  I  was  carried  away  by  my  pas- 
sion. I  told  you  that  if  you  would  help  me  to 
punish  her  for  her  ingratitude  to  me  I  —  I  —  you 
know  what  I  said.  I  wish  to  state  that  I  meant 
what  I  said.  I  will  not  have  you  think  me  good 
when  I  know  that  I  was  not." 

"  Miss  Darnell  !  " 

"  Oh,  it  is  true  ;  and  I  can  thank  you  to-day 
that  you  were  honest  with  me.  I  do  thank  you," 
she  added,  with  real  earnestness ;  for  as  she  talked 
about  it  the  unconcealment  of  uttered  words  made 
the  sin  show  darkly,  and  she  said  more  than  had 
,  been  in  her  mind  when  she  began.  Speech  is 
sometimes  a  friendly  traitor. 


252  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Pennell,  kindly.  "  I  should 
have  liked  to  be  assured  that  I  misunderstood  you. 
I  am  the  last  man  to  feel  that  there  may  not  be 
temptings  to  do  wrong  which  I  cannot  compre- 
hend. I  have  seen  things  in  my  own  life,  Miss 
Darnell,  which  make  me  feel  sure  that  no  one  can 
fully  know  or  measure  the  force  of  another's 
temptations.  You  have  forced  me  to  see  that  a 
woman  I  —  that  a  friend  has  meant  to  do  wrong ; 
but  you  have  not  done  that  wrong,  and  it  never 
will  be  done." 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  while  over  her  came 
some  consciousness  of  the  presence  of  a  larger, 
simpler  nature  than  her  own,  and  of  such  helpful 
support  as  encourages  all  that  is  good  in  us  to 
cast  away  the  weak  crutches  of  self-cheatery  and 
of  explanations  plausible  only  to  our  self-esteem. 

She  had  said  she  thanked  him;  and  it  was 
true.  Then  she  added,  "I  wish"  —  and  her  voice 
broke. 

"  Please  don't,"  said  Pennell.  "  I  dare  say  I 
have  hurt  you." 

"  Oh,  no,  no  !  You  have  been  a  good  friend  to 
me.  I  wanted  to  say  that  I  wish  I  could  say  more 
than  that.  I  cannot.  I  am  a  fool !  Oh,  there  are 
so  many  —  too  many  —  things  in  life  !  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  with  great  effort  at  self-control, 
"  life  is  confusing  to  us  all,  Miss  Octopia,  —  very 
confusing.  But  you  must  not  trouble  yourself 
about  me.  I  do  not  think  that  I  ought  to  believe 
myself  deserving  of  so  great  a  gift  as  —  as  what 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  253 

you  are  so  kind  as  to  speak  of.  I  have  put  away 
the  thought,  or  at  least  the  expectation  :  let  us 
say  no  more  of  it.  You  sent  for  me.  What  can 
I  do  for  you  ?  I  have  a  hope  that  there  is  some 
real  service  you  are  going  to  ask.  A  friend  in 
need  of  him  is  the  best  friend  a  man  can  have." 

"  That  is  a  pretty  reading  of  the  proverb,"  she 
said,  smiling,  and  feeling  that  her  eyes  were  too 
full  and  might  run  over.  "  I  do  not  want  much. 
You  have  four  thousand  dollars  of  mine.  It  is  in 
a  mortgage,  I  think." 

"Yes, — in  St.  Louis,  a  very  satisfactory  invest- 
ment. It  pays  eight  per  cent.  What  about  it  ?  " 

"I  want  you  to  let  me  have  one  thousand  of  the 
four  thousand." 

"  But  in  that  case  it  would  have  to  be  called  in, 
—  which  it  cannot  be,  as  it  has  two  years  to  run." 

"  But  I  must  have  it." 

"  Then  I  will  arrange  the  matter :  it  is  easy 
enough.  When  do  you  want  it?  " 

"  To-morrow." 

"  You  shall  have  it ;  but  —  will  you  pardon  me 
if  I  ask  why  you  want  it  ?  " 

"  I  would  rather  not  say." 

"  Then  I  shall  not  ask  you ;  but  pray  remember 
that  now  and  always  I  am  at  your  disposal." 

She  rose  and  put  out  her  hand :  "  You  have 
done  more  for  me  to-day  than  I  can  repay.  Good- 
by." 

"  I  will  send  you  a  check  to-morrow,"  he  said, 
and,  going  out,  left  her  to  her  thoughts. 


254  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

They  were  not  all  pleasant.  Her  recent  need 
to  think  of  others  had  beneficently  taken  her  out- 
side of  the  slowly-narrowing  circle  of  self-care  and 
self-contemplation,  and,  by  relieving  her  of  some 
of  the  morbid  habits  of  disease,  had  greatly  bet- 
tered her  physical  condition.  The  mind  rose  in 
the  scale  of  soundness  with  the  body,  —  slowly,  of 
course,  as  when  one  long  crouching  in  slavery, 
straightening  himself,  tends  to  walk  erect.  To 
do  right  became  more  easy,  because  to  see  the 
right  grew  more  possible.  The  changes  were 
fractional  and  irregular;  but  surely  when  Olivia 
hurried  her  relative  away  she  did  Octopia  a  ser- 
vice of  inestimable  proportions. 

For  a  while  she  sat  now  as  one  still  under  the 
solemnizing  influence  of  a  grave  moral  lesson. 
She  thought  of  the  man  who  had  read  her  so  po- 
tent a  sermon  out  of  his  abounding  honesty  and 
tenderness.  Unhappily,  she  had  a  capacity  for 
seeing  only  the  conventionally  ridiculous  rather 
than  the  not  unfriendly  humorous  aspects  of  life, 
and  she  found  herself  thinking  of  the  uneasy 
freckled  hands,  and  of  the  tormented  hat  with 
which  Pennell  shyly  helped  his  embarrassments. 

She  reproached  herself  a  little,  and  then  her 
brother  appeared  upon  the  stage  of  her  conscious- 
ness. If  the  time  came  when,  her  money  being 
gone,  he  would  begin  to  carry  out  his  schemes 
relentlessly,  what  resource  would  there  be  ?  The 
wrong  she  had  thought  of  as  possible  he  would 
do.  Should  she  tell  Mr.  Pennell  or  Mrs.  Wynne 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  255 

that  lie  really  knew  nothing?  That  might  an- 
swer ;  but  could  she  do  it  ?  She  would  wait  and 
/see.  The  waiters  on  the  providence  of  time  are 
apt  to  be  unconscious  servants  of  the  devil.  Then, 
aware  that  she  was  chilly  and  tremulous  from 
over-excitement,  she  rang  for  Judith,  and,  quite 
unstrung,  gave  way  to  nervousness,  and  for  a  day 
or  two  made  the  poor  old  servant  uncomfortable 
with  her  unending  desire  for  sympathetic  atten- 
tion. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

"Out  of  the  strong  shall  sweetness  come, 
Love's  honey  be  the  meat  of  life." 

MEANWHILE,  three  weeks  had  passed  by  at  the 
little  seaside  village. 

Roland  Blake  found  the  life  sufficingly  agree- 
able. He  paid  a  daily  visit  to  Mrs.  Wynne,  and 
made  her  happy  by  listening  to  her  genealogical 
details  of  his  own  and  other  New  England  fami- 
lies and  her  memories  of  a  past  which  he  found 
interesting. 

She  had  asked  him  on  one  occasion  why  he  had 
desired  to  see  her,  and  he  had  said  it  was  a  matter 
of  a  quite  personal  nature,  and  that  he  hoped  to 
explain  it  before  long.  Would  Mrs.  Wynne  do 
him  the  great  kindness  not  to  urge  him  further  in 
regard  to  it  ?  She  was  not  fully  satisfied,  but  did 
not  see  her  way  clear  as  to  insisting,  and  Olivia, 
who  was  learning  to  trust  him,  and  to  whom  her 
grandmother  had  reported  his  words,  thought  that 
really  no  more  could  be  said  at  present ;  and  so 
the  matter  rested. 

Now  and  then,  after  he  had  come  to  know  them 
well,  he  read  to  the  old  lady,  to  Olive's  great  re- 
lief, as  she  had  grown  rather  weary  of  this  form 
of  duty.  At  other  times  he  answered  Olivia's  or 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  257 

Mrs.  Wynne's  numberless  questions  as  to  the  great 
war  in  which  he  had  been  an  actor,  but  of  the 
horrors  of  which  he  talked  with  characteristic 
reluctance.  Mrs.  Wynne  being  now  quite  at  ease 
about  him,  Olivia  enjoyed  such  reasonable  freedom 
as  liberal  circumstance  provided,  and  in  this  calm 
atmosphere  developed  in  mind  and  body  to  a  de- 
gree which  had  been  impossible  amidst  the  exas- 
perations and  morbidness  of  her  former  surround- 
ings. 

The  quiet  breakfast-hour  was  a  daily  pleasure. 
Blake  puzzled  her  at  times,  but  interested  her 
always,  and  his  gravity  gave  her  a  half-felt  sense 
of  his  being  older  than  he  was,  and  enabled  her  to 
think  and  speak  with  ease. 

"  I  wish,"  he  said  at  breakfast  one  morning, 
"  that  my  friend  Francis  would  come.  He  writes 
me  that  he  will  be  here  to-morrow,  and  then  puts 
it  off.  I  would  like  you  to  know  him.  Your 
grandmother  would  delight  him." 

Olivia  was  not  over-eager  to  see  the  new  man, 
—  why,  she  did  not  ask  herself.  The  life  she  led 
was  full  of  wholesome,  tranquil  joy,  and  needed 
no  addition  to  its  sum  of  satisfactions. 

"  When  he  comes,  I  suppose  you  will  take  to 
fishing  and  shooting." 

"  He  may.  I  have  seen  shooting  enough.  I 
don't  think  I  shall  want  to  see  a  fly  killed  the  re- 
mainder of  my  days." 

"  Or  a  mosquito  ?  " 

"  Well,  that 's  going  pretty  far.     Did  you  hear 


258  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

Uncle  John  say  yesterday  that  whenever  a  mos- 
quito bites  a  Jerseyman  it  dies  *  pizened '  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  How  delightful  he  is !  Don't  you 
think  there  is  a  quaint  vein  of  poetry  in  him  ? 
But  about  Mr.  Francis  —  what  sort  of  a  person  is 
he  ?  Tell  me  everything." 

"  The  call  on  me  is  a  large  one,"  Blake  an- 
swered, smiling.  "No  one  man  can  competently 
y" describe  another :  it  requires  a  man  and  a  woman, 
Miss  Wynne.  Outside,  Phil  is  a  mildly  cynical 
commentary  on  the  world  about  him.  If  you  be- 
lieved what  he  says,  you  would  think  ill  enough 
of  your  fellows,  including  Philip  Francis.  What 
he  does  is  always  kind  and  correct.  He  insists 
that  he  is  valuable  to  me  because  he  represents 
commonplace  opinion.  I  think  he  has  the  grave 
defect  of  enjoying  the  ridiculous  more  than  the 
humorous." 

"  Oh !  like  Octopia,  —  my  cousin  Octopia  Dar- 
nell." 

"  Octopia !  Pardon  me  —  but  what  a  droll 
name ! " 

"  It  does  not  strike  me  so  now.  It  was  Octopie 
when  her  great-grandmother  owned  it :  she  was 
French,  I  believe ;  we  have  some  Huguenot  blood. 
It  is  not  half  so  odd  to  me  as  the  name  of  my 
grandmamma's  business-man,  —  Addenda  Pennell. 
Imagine  the  calamity  of  being  called  Addenda ! 
It  ought  to  prevent  a  man's  ever  getting  married." 

Blake  laughed,  and  amused  himself  with  bal- 
ancing his  spoon  on  the  lip  of  his  coffee-cup  while 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  259 

he  thought  a  moment  of  Pennell  and  his  clocks, 
and  of  his  own  errand,  the  fulfillment  of  which  he 
kept  on  postponing  from  day  to  day. 

"  I  am  quite  sure  you  will  like  him,"  she  con- 
tinued. "  He  will  be  here  very  soon." 

"  Indeed  !     How  soon  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  cannot  say.  You  will  know  he  is  here 
when  you  see  a  tall  man  with  a  slight  stoop  and 
an  embarrassing  friendship  for  his  hat.  When  you 
come  to  see  more  of  him  you  will  find  him  a  pain- 
fully accurate  person,  with  a  craze  —  I  mean  a  nice 
kind  of  craze  —  for  clocks  and  queer  reading,  and 
as  shy  as  a  swallow." 

"  I  can  see  him.  What  a  joy  he  will  be  to 
Francis !  —  Addenda  !  By  the  way,  would  you 
mind  telling  me  what  your  own  name  is,  Miss 
Wynne  ?  I  think  it  is  pleasant  to  know  people's 
names." 

"  Olivia,"  she  said,  and  the  gray  eyes  rose  to 
his  across  the  table. 

"  Olivia,"  he  repeated,  and  then  had  a  faint  im- 
pression that  it  would  be  pleasant  to  call  her  that. 
"  I  should  think  people  who  cared  for  you  would 
like  to  call  you  Olivia." 

"  It 's  not  very  descriptive." 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said.  "  It  rolls  out  softly 
from  one's  lips.  Shall  you  sketch  to-day,  or  are 
we  to  have  our  long-promised  visit  to  the 
beaches  ?  " 

"  Grandmamma  is  quite  willing  I  should  go 
whenever  Uncle  John  and  our  nice  old  landlady 


260  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

can  arrange  it.  Mrs.  Ludlam  says  she  is  '  waitin' 
for  them  chicken-grapes  to  git  a  little  more  sun  ; ' 
and  I  believe  that  the  business  of  the  grape  jelly 
will  come  off  to-morrow.  Can  you  go  with  us  ?  " 

"  I  ?     Of  course.     And  to-day  ?  " 

"  I  thought  I  should  like  to  sketch  the  mead- 
ows." 

*'  Very  good.  I  will  have  my  cigar  under  the 
willows  and  be  ready  whenever  you  appear." 

He  rose,  and  as  she  went  out  of  the  room,  the 
young  man,  looking  after  her,  took  note  of  the 
proud  carriage  of  the  head  and  its  coil  of  brown 
hair.  At  the  door  she  turned,  smiling.  "  I  give 
you  a  half  hour,"  she  said. 

His  attentive  attitude  struck  her,  the  gently 
grave  face,  the  look  of  vigor  and  masculine  force. 
She  went  up-stairs  humming  an  air  and  thinking 
how  pleasant  it  all  was. 

As  he  lit  his  cigar  and  went  out,  he  was  aware 
of  the  solid  form  of  Uncle  John,  looking  more 
colossal  than  common  by  reason  of  a  very  short 
and  much- worn  pea-jacket. 

"  Thought  you  might  take  it  neighborly  if  I 
fetched  your  mail  up  from  the  office.  Ther  's 
one  for  you  and  a  lot  of  papers.  Happened  to 
read  one  of  'em  as  I  come  along.  Now  the  war  's 
done  ther  ain't  much  in  them  papers.  Oh  !  and 
ther  's  one  for  Miss  Wynne  ;  ye  might  hand  it  in 
to  her.  I  'm  kind  of  rushed  to-day." 

"Thanks,  Mr.  Leslie,"  said  Blake.  "I  will 
give  it  to  her.  And  can  you  take  us  over  to  the 
beaches  to-morrow  ?  " 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  261 

"  Should  n't  wonder  if  I  could,"  said  Leslie,  re- 
flectively, and  pushing  back  his  ragged  straw  hat. 
"  Ther  '11  be  you,  and  Miss  Wynne,  and  me." 

"  And  Mrs.  Ludlam." 

*'  After  chicken-grapes,  as  sure  as  ther  's  sand 
in  Jersey ;  all  the  old  women  gits  chicken-grape 
fever  'bout  this  time.  Well,  we  '11  take  the  big 
bateau.  We  '11  stay  all  day,  and  I  '11  cook  the 
shellers  for  you  myself.  The  women  ken  cohoot 
together  down  at  the  old  house,  and  me  and  you, 
we  '11  go  a-fishin'." 

"  Would  you  kindly  tell  me  what  are  shellers  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  do  declare.  Don't  know  shellers.  Why 
ther  's  them,  and  there  's  paper  shells,  and  ther  's 
soft  shells,  which  ain't  got  no  shells  really,  and 
them  's  all  crabs,  major ;  the  whole  bilin'  jus'  like 
people.  Women  is  often  like  soft  shellers,  and 
some  ain't  never  got  no  shells  on  'em  and  you  're 
allus  hurtin'  'em  unexpected  like." 

Blake  laughed  outright.  "  Upon  my  word, 
Uncle  John,  the  women  must  have  been  unkind 
to  you  in  your  time." 

"  I  don't  allow  they  were,  major.  What  I  were 
a-tryin'  to  convey  is  that  ther  's  a  heap  of  nat'ral 
histry  in  women.  Chiefly  ther 's  two  kinds." 

«  Well,"  said  Blake. 

"  Ther  's  females  and  shemales,  major,  an'  that 's 
the  hul'  of  it." 

"  That  is  quite  perfect ;  but  about  the  beaches  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  '11  git  the  boats  clean  and  we  '11  settle 
how  we  shall  go  to-morrow." 


262  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

The  major's  errand  began  more  and  more  to 
embarrass  him,  —  to  assume,  indeed,  a  somewhat 
ridiculous  aspect.  It  was  one  thing  to  decide 
that  he  owed  a  duty,  quite  another  to  act  up 
to  this  decision  with  people  like  these,  who  were 
of  his  own  world  and  seemingly  well  able  to  take 
care  of  themselves.  What,  too,  was  their  relation 
to  Darnell?  and  where  was  he  ?  On  the  whole,  it 
seemed  well  to  wait,  and  perhaps,  after  all,  to  give 
Mr.  Pennell  a  share  of  his  confidence. 

He  was  about  to  open  bis  letter,  when  Miss 
Wynne  appeared,  and  he  made  haste  to  take 
charge  of  her  sketching  materials. 

"  I  expect  you  to  take  me  to  some  good  point  of 
view,  Major  Blake,"  she  said,  as  they  moved  up 
the  road. 

"  I  think  I  know  the  place.  But  may  I  ask  you 
not  to  call  me  major?  I  should  like  to  forget  the 
war  and  go  back  to  the  ways  of  peaceful  life.  I 
dislike  to  talk  about  myself ;  but  I  am  sure  you 
will  understand  me." 

"  Yes,  I  understand  you  ;  but  I  can't  help  feel- 
ing some  pride  in  what  the  North  has  done.  I 
see  what  you  mean ;  and  yet  I  am  afraid  that  if  I 
were  you  I  should  want  to  keep  any  well-won 
title." 

"  As  to  that,  I  am  proud  enough  of  our  work ; 
but  as  to  the  label,  I  part  from  it  with  pleasure. 
I  went  in  as  a  private,  and  it  was  from  circum- 
stance rather  than  desire  that  I  rose.  I  hated  to 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  263 

be  paid  for  doing  what  seemed  to  me  so  clear  a 
duty." 

"But  every  one  was  paid." 

"  No,  I  knew  men  who  never  took  pay  at  all. 
Of  course  they  were  men  who  could  afford  to  do 
without  it.  I  never  could  make  up  my  mind  to 
be  paid." 

"  I  think  that  was  noble,"  said  Olivia. 

"  Thank  you.  It  hardly  looks  so  large  to  me. 
This  way,  Miss  Wynne ;  and  let  us  drop  the  war." 

As  he  spoke,  they  came  out  of  the  low  pine 
woods.  "  This  is  the  place,"  he  said,  arranging 
her  seat,  and,  as  she  sat  down,  throwing  himself 
on  the  ferns  at  her  feet. 

"  It  is  large  for  a  sketch,"  she  said.  "  I  will 
take  the  wood  corner  and  a  bit  of  the  meadows, 
with  the  hay-stacks  on  piles.  The  border  of  brown 
ferns  comes  in  nicely,  and  those  pools  close  by 
with  purpled  arrow-weed  and  spatterdocks  and 
the  fringes  of  pink  salt-wort." 

Around  the  wood  edge  came  a  small  scow, 
loaded  with  salt  grass,  on  top  of  the  heap  a  man 
in  a  red  shirt,  on  the  bank  another  pulling  the 
scow. 

"  That  is  great  luck !  "  she  cried,  as  she  began 
to  draw.  "  It  is  like  Holland,  with  a  difference. 
I  am  afraid  you  will  be  very  tired  before  I  am 
through." 

"  I  think  I  can  bear  it,"  he  returned,  lazily 
stretching  himself  out.  "  But  give  me  a  scrap  of 
paper  and  a  pencil." 


264  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

She  tore  out  a  leaf  from  her  book.  Then  for 
a  time  they  were  silent. 

At  last  she  said,  "Why  don't  you  talk?  It 
does  not  interfere  with  my  work." 

"Presently,"  he  returned,  and  went  on  scrib- 
bling. 

After  a  few  moments  she  said,  "  What  are  you 
doing?" 

"  Some  nonsense-verses." 

'*  Let  me  see  them." 

"  If  you  like."  He  gave  her  the  paper,  and  she 
read  them  aloud :  — 

"  What  do  they  call  you,  my  pretty  maid  ? 
I'm  a  wandering  day  of  June,  she  said  : 
Into  the  autumn  woods  I  've  strayed. 
And  what  are  you  doing,  my  pretty  maid  ? 
I  'm  kissing  September,  sir,  she  said  : 
Don't  you  see  how  he 's  blushing  red  ?  " 

"  I  like  it,"  she  said.     "  Might  I  keep  it  ?  " 
"  If  you  please.     It  is  poor  stuff  and  at  least 
needs  to  be  re-touched.     I  will  better  the  bargain 
by  throwing  in  a  letter  for  you  which  Uncle  John 
gave  me.     Pardon  my  forgetfulness." 

He  took  the  letters  from  his  pocket,  gave  one 
to  Miss  Wynne,  and  then,  asking  her  permission, 
began  to  read  his  own.  It  was  from  Francis  :  — 

DEAR  ROLAND,  —  I  shall  be  down  in  a  week 
or  so,  unless  in  the  mean  while  you  tire  of  the 
place  and  the  people  you  describe  so  agreeably. 
It  was  odd  that  you  should  have  lit  on  the 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  265 

Wynnes.  I  ought  to  tell  you  that  Mr.  Darnell 
has  turned  up  at  last,  —  a  dark,  handsome  fellow, 
with  admirable  soft  Southern  manners.  He  talks 
a  good  deal  of  these  Wynnes,  his  cousins,  and  I 
rather  suspect  you  will  some  day  see  him  at  the 
shore.  Very  naturally,  he  speaks  warmly  of  his 
obligations  to  you ;  and  yet  there  is  something 
about  him  I  do  not  like,  —  I  hardly  know  what  it 
is,  and  after  all  there  is  a  luxury  in  such  dislikes 
as  one  cannot  reasonably  explain.  It  adds  the 
charm  of  mystery  to  the  exercise  of  an  interesting 
human  privilege.  Darnell  talked  so  much  about 
his  State  that  when  he  asked  about  mine  I  said  I 
came  from  all  the  States.  You  Yankees  are  nearly 
as  bad.  I  rather  hoped  that  we  had  put  an  end 
to  Stateriotism.  I  can  see  you  shudder  at  my  fee- 
ble coinage. 

I  have  been  getting  places  for  some  of  our  men, 
and  shall  not  rest  while  one  of  them  is  out  of  a 
place.  Taking  care  of  others  is  such  an  agreeable 
form  of  self-flattery.  On  reflection,  I  think  that 
one  reason  why  I  do  not  quite  like  Darnell  is  his 
name,  but  there  are  so  many  good  causes  for  dis- 
like and  so  many  for  likes  that  one  feels  as  if 
one's  bread  were  buttered  on  both  sides,  and  there- 
fore cannot  fall  without  coming  to  grief.  That  is 
all  pretty  hazy,  the  result  of  being  metaphysicked 
too  much  by  one  R.  B. 

I  wish  I  liked  more  people,  but  I  begin  by  not 
liking.  Your  friend, 

PHTL. 


266  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

By  the  way,  Darnell  returned  the  money  I 
sent  him  when  he  was  at  Fort  Delaware,  and  to- 
day borrowed  double  the  amount.  A  delay  of  a 
few  hours  enables  me  to  make  this  little  contribu- 
tion to  contemporary  biography.  But  if  collecting 
the  foibles  of  my  kind  amuse  me,  why  should  you 
mourn? 

Blake  looked  up  at  the  tranquil  face  above  him, 
which  now  glanced  across  the  meadows,  now  bent 
towards  the  sketch-block.  Pretty  little  delicate 
changes  went  over  it,  like  faint  cloud-shadows 
across  the  breadth  of  grassy  plains  she  looked 
at;  and  perhaps  there  were  also  thoughts  which, 
like  the  birds  high  in  air  above  her,  were  too  near 
the  sun  of  maiden  consciousness  to  cast  a  shade 
of  expression. 

"  What  do  you  do,"  he  said,  at  last,  looking  up 
from  the  letter,  "  when  your  friends  vex  you  by 
making  believe  to  be  other  than  they  are  ?  " 

The  girl  looked  gravely  down  at  his  question- 
ing face.  "  But  I  have  no  friends  who  are  not 
relatives  ;  and  if  I  had,  I  should  let  them  indulge 
in  what  fancies  they  like,  if  only  they  cared  for 
me.  You  cannot  imagine  what  an  isolated  life  I 
have  led.  I  used  to  know  a  good  many  girls  of 
my  own  age  in  Europe,  when  we  traveled,  but  we 
were  never  very  long  anywhere  ;  and  at  home  it 
has  been  different,  —  so  that  what  I  say  is  really 
true,  that  I  do  not  know  intimately  a  single  girl  of 
my  own  age.  You  will  think  that  very  strange,  I 
am  sure." 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  267 

"  Then  you  are  quite  open  to  womanly  woo- 
ing," he  said,  lightly.  "  And  pray,  if  you  were 
any  other  woman  and  wished  to  win  the  friendly 
regard  of  Miss  Wynne  '  unattached,'  as  we  said  in 
the  army,  how  would  you  go  about  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  what  a  riddle  !  "  she  cried,  as  she  put  in 
here  and  there  a  decisive  brush-touch,  her  head  on 
one  side,  contemplative.  Then,  as  if  the  question 
had  captured  her  fuller  attention,  she  ceased  to 
draw,  and  seemed  to  be  busy  a  moment  with  the 
far  horizon  and  the  umber  pools  girt  round  with 
rings  of  red. 

"  To  ask  a  woman  who  has  no  friend  what  man- 
ner of  friend  she  would  desire,  —  now,  that  is  very 
interesting.  Could  n't  you  help  me  a  little  ?  A 
friend,  —  why,  that  is  for  life,  —  some  one  to  last 
through  all  changes." 

"  Yes." 

"  I  should  want  the  friend  better  than  I  am,  — 
more  just,  —  more  exact,  —  oh,  just  every  way 
large  where  I  am  small.  And  charitable,  —  she 
would  have  to  be  very  charitable ;  I  need  that." 

"  My  friend  Francis  says  charity  consists  mostly 
in  paying  other  people's  moral  debts." 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  like  Mr.  Francis.  How 
can  he  be  a  good  friend  ?  " 

"  And  yet  he  is  ;  but  his  talk  is  apt  to  be  a 
mere  masquerade." 

"  No,  I  am  sure  I  should  not  like  that.  My 
friend  shall  always  mean  what  she  says ;  and  I 
should  want  her  to  be  very  firm,  and  very  —  not 


268  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

afraid  to  tell  me  when  I  am  wrong.  And  interest- 
ing, too ;  that  I  insist  upon." 

Blake  studied  with  a  certain  contentment  the 
growth  of  seriousness  in  the  eyes  which  looked 
across  the  marshes. 

"  The  ship  we  call  friend  will  be  well  freighted 
with  duties,"  he  laughed.  "  And  how  would  you 
repay  all  this  devotion  to  Miss  Wynne's  moral 
interests  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  should  love  her  well,"  said  Olivia, 
quietly. 

"I  am  answered.  Here  is  your  letter;  you 
dropped  it." 

She  took  it  as  he  spoke,  and  her  face  changed 
abruptly.  She  had  supposed  it  to  be  from  Mr. 
Pennell,  her  only  correspondent.  It  was  ad- 
dressed in  Octopia's  handwriting.  The  shock  was 
rude.  Then  she  laughed  a  bitter  little  laugh  as 
she  opened  the  letter.  «'  You  can  study  the  en- 
velope while  I  read  the  contents." 

He  looked  at  the  delicate  thread-like  writing, 
free  from  strong  markings. 

"Writing  ought  to  tell  us  something  of  people," 
he  said,  reflectively.  "  I  don't  think  it  does, 
much.  Yet  the  hand  and  the  head  are  very  in- 
timate. St.  Paul  says  they  need  each  other.  I 
think  elaborate  signatures  mean  self-conceit ;  don't 
you,  Miss  Wynne  ?  " 

Hearing  no  reply,  he  looked  up,  and  saw  that 
his  companion  was  standing,  her  eyes  full  of  tears, 
the  letter  crumpled  in  her  hand. 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  269 

Blake  rose.  "  What  is  wrong  ?  "  he  said. 
"  Are  you  in  any  trouble  ?  Can  I  be  of  use  to 
you?" 

"  No ;  it  is  nothing,  —  nothing  I  can  talk  about. 
I  must  go  home."  She  was  evidently  much  dis- 
turbed. 

He  gathered  up  her  sketch-books  and  paint- 
box and  camp-chair,  and  turned  to  join  her. 

"I  am  afraid,"  he  said,  "that  now  you  need 
that  friend." 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  absently ;  "  yes."  And  she 
walked  on  in  silence. 

/  Many  men  would  have  found  an  obvious  an- 
swer. Blake  did  not.  He  was  surprised  for  a 
time  at  the  strong  emotion  this  woman's  unknown 
trouble  caused  him.  It  was  great  enough  to  give 
rise  for  a  few  seconds  to  a  sense  of  physical  weak- 
ness which  annoyed  him. 

A  vision  of  solemn  battle-fields  came  before 
him,  —  the  dead,  the  agonized,  for  whom  he  had 
v  had  no  such  pang  as  a  girl's  full  eyes  had  brought 
him.  That  seemed  to  him  inscrutable.  He  had 
a  feeling  of  helplessness  unusual  in  his  very 
practical  nature,  and  knew  not  that  the  true  sec- 
ond-childhood of  life  was  on  him,  with  its  weak- 
nesses and  indecisions,  its  mystery  and  its  ten- 
derness. 

The  yearning  to  help  her  was  too  great  for  such 
restraints  as  finer  social  usage  and  his  own  deli- 
cacy of  character  imposed  upon  him. 

"  Miss  Wynne,"  he  said,  "  let  me  be  the  cold 


270  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

friend  of  just  a  minute.  There  is,  I  trust,  no  need 
for  me  to  say  that  I  have  no  wish  to  know  what 
has  hurt  you."  He  tried  to  make  his  tones  busi- 
ness-like and  untender,  but  failed,  as  men  ought  to 
fail.  "  Let  me  advise  you  just  to  put  aside  your 
trouble  for  an  hour.  Then,  when  you  are  at  home 
in  the  quiet  of  your  room,  try  to  think  yourself 
some  one  else,  and  read  your  letter  over  again. 
That  seems  cool  advice  ;  and  yet  I  am  sure  it  is 
good." 

Unused  to  kindness,  the  grave  gentleness  of  his 
manner  touched  her,  and  the  good  sense  of  his 
words  steadied  her. 

"  No  doubt  you  are  right,"  she  said  ;  «*  and  it  is 
not  very  nice  of  me  to  make  you  the  victim  of  my 
annoyances.  I  think  I  have  usually  more  self- 
control  ;  and  indeed  I  have  had  need  for  it." 

Then  she  thrust  the  letter  into  her  pocket,  and 
said  resolutely,  "  God  could  not  have  meant  one 
to  be  sad  to-day." 

Blake  liked  the  sudden  show  of  self-restraint. 

"  No,"  he  said,  as  they  went  through  the  pine 
woods  sweet  with  rich  odors.  "  The  air  seems 
full  of  gladness.  I  wonder  if  the  birds  so  gay 
above  us  have  any  consciousness  of  time.  Let  us 
live  in  the  blithe  day  with  them  for  counselors, 
and  let  to-morrow  take  counsel  of  them  afresh." 

"  Ah,  but  there  is  that  terrible  to-morrow !  " 
She  was  still  thinking  of  what  it  might  bring. 

"  To-morrow  is  the  poet  of  hope,"  he  cried, 
laughing  at  his  conceit;  "and  here  is  the  first 
red  maple  leaf,  — red  and  gold." 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  271 

And  thus,  with  jesting  talk  of  men  and  things, 
he  won  her  thoughts  from  herself  and  forced  her 
by  the  interest  of  his  chat  to  forget  the  outside 
world,  its  problems  and  its  griefs.  As  one  feels 
in  water  the  buoyancy  with  which  it  lessens  our 
weight  and  lifts  us,  she  felt,  without  analysis  of 
its  causes,  the  elevating  and  kindly  support  of  the 
influences  this  man  brought  to  help  her. 

Meanwhile,  the  pines  bent  down  with  their 
sombre  foliage,  and  the  southward  bound  birds 
called  to  one  another,  "  It  is  all  right,"  and  the 
swaying  golden-rods  nodded  socially,  "  We  were 
just  so  when  we  were  young."  And  then  they 
came  to  the  inn  door,  where  Olivia,  taking  her 
sketching  material  from  Blake,  said,  "  I  am  greatly 
obliged  to  you."  Upon  which  he  returned,  "  You 
will  not  forget  my  sketch,"  and  walked  away, 
while  Olivia  went  slowly  up-stairs.  They  were 
both  busily  thinking  of  one  man. 

Roland  Blake  felt  that  the  time  was  near  when 
he  must  take  some  action  as  to  Richard  Darnell. 
What  had  seemed  a  duty  before  he  knew  the 
Wynnes  had  ripened  by  degrees  into  a  yet  more 
imperative  form  of  obligation.  They  were  attrac- 
tive people  and  singularly  isolated.  Any  day 
they  might  leave  their  present  home  and  that  be 
still  unsaid  which  might  lead  to  a  lifetime  of  re- 
gret. He  had  begun  to  think  he  would  talk  to 
Mr.  Pennell ;  and  it  was  a  relief  to  feel  sure  that 
with  Darnell  himself  he  might  deal  if  no  other 
way  should  open.  Although  he  knew  Darnell  to 


272  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

be  a  man  capable  of  the  darkest  crime,  he  had  as 
yet  no  distinct  evidence  as  to  his  having  in  any 
way  desired  to  injure  his  relatives  ;  to  them  in  no 
case  could  he  say  what  he  knew  of  Darnell.  After 
a  long  bout  of  self-counsel,  he  gave  it  up,  and  went 
a-fishing. 

The  matter  assumed  for  Olivia  a  more  definite 
shape. 

"Grandmamma,"  she  said,  "here  is  a  letter 
from  Octopia.  As  you  expected,  she  has  found 
out  where  we  are." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  we  shall  see  her  here  soon. 
What  does  she  say  ?  Read  me  her  letter." 

Olivia  sat  down.  "  I  have  read  it  but  once, 
grandmamma,  and  it  is  not  like  my  cousin, — not 
at  all  like  her.  I  hardly  know  what  to  make  of 
it.  At  first  it  troubled  me,  because  it  is  so  mys- 
terious, —  I  do  so  hate  secrets ;  but  I  —  I  was 
walking  with  Mr.  Blake  when  I  read  it  and  I  was 
able  to  put  it  aside  for  a  while.  But  it  means  — 
oh,  it  does  surely  mean  that  we  are  going  to  have 
some  new  trouble.  And  we  have  been  so  happy  !  " 

"  Well,  read  it,  my  dear."     Olive  obeyed. 

"  '  DEAREST  OLIVE,  —  How  shall  I  ever  forgive 
you  and  my  dear  cousin  for  running  away  and 
leaving  me  with  hardly  a  word?  It  makes  me 
feel  that  in  my  weakness  and  my  pain  I  may 
have  asked  too  much  of  you  and  worn  out  your 
gentle  patience '  — 

"  My  gentle  patience,  grandmamma  !  " 

"  Well,  go  on." 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  273 

" '  Even  the  claims  of  gratitude  I  have  reason  to 
know  may  in  time  become  valueless,  for  you  have 
been  good  to  me,  and  now  I  miss  the  more  your 
soft  touch  and  the  morning  kiss.  Perhaps  some 
day  you  or  yours  may  need  me  again ;  and  be  as- 
sured that  I  shall  not  fail  you  in  your  necessity. 
I  did  not  once  ;  I  shall  not  again. 

"  '  If  by  any  chance  my  brother  Dick  should  go 
to  see  you,  as  I  think  he  will,  you  will  be  kind  to 
him,  dear,  will  you  not  ?  ' 

"  No,  I  will  not,"  said  Olivia. 

"  Olive  !  Olive  !  "  returned  Mrs.  Wynne,  "  try 
to  keep  your  temper.  I  have  kept  mine  under 
worse  provocation ;  and  really,  considering  all 
things,  Octopia  has  not  said  anything  much  out 
of  the  way." 

"  She  means  —  oh,  you  know  what  she  means. 
I  do  not  see  why  the  man  is  coming  here.  I  said 
I  would  not  ask  you  again  what  Octopia's  mysti- 
fications are  about ;  and  I  will  not ;  it  hurts  and 
pains  you,  I  know ;  but  nothing  —  nothing  could 
be  worse  for  me  than  to  live  in  the  midst  of  her 
whims  and  affection  and  hints.  If  that  man  drives 
me  to  the  wall  I  will  ask  him  what  it  all  means. 
Some  one  shall  tell  me." 

"  You  would  be  insane,  Olive.  He  knows  noth- 
ing. You  would  only  make  him  guess  that  there 
is  something.  I  am  sure  his  sister  would  not  tell 
him.  Oh,  why  —  why  cannot  you  rest  content 
and  leave  me  a  little  peaceful  comfort  ?  I  cannot 
have  long  to  live.  Why  do  you  make  me  so  un- 
happy?" 


274  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"  They  must  let  me  alone,"  said  the  girl.  "  Why 
am  I  always  the  one  to  be  blamed  ?  Let  me  write 
to  Octopia  and  say  we  never  wish  to  see  her  any 
more, — never !  never !  Let  her  do  what  she  likes." 

"  I  forbid  you  to  answer  her,  Olive.  I  shall 
write  myself.  As  to  Richard  Darnell,  if  he  comes, 
—  which  is  not  likely,  —  give  him  his  dismissal 
kindly :  any  man  has  a  right  to  that.  If  you 
could  have  married  him,  all  our  troubles  would 
have  been  over :  but,  as  you  will  not,  we  must  get 
on  as  we  can.  Mind,  dear,  I  don't  say  I  like  him; 
but  you  might,  you  know." 

Olivia  made  no  reply. 

Octopia  had  said  she  would  not  come  to  them 
unasked ;  Olive  did  not  believe  her. 

At  last  she  sat  down  and  wrote  to  Mr.  Pennell 
that  if  it  were  possible  for  him  to  come  to  the 
Court-house  and  pay  them  a  visit  of  a  few  days 
it  would  be  agreeable.  There  was  nobody  in  the 
house  but  a  Mr.  Blake,  whom  her  grandmother 
liked  because,  being  New  Hampshire  born,  he  had 
a  due  reverence  for  the  Wynnes.  The  fishing  was 
good,  and  the  air  delightful. 

The  next  day  was  rainy,  and  Olivia,  who  was 
excited  and  worried,  was  not  sorry  to  put  off  their 
visit  to  the  beaches.  Blake  read  to  them,  and 
they  sketched  the  wet  willows,  and  Uncle  John 
came  along  and  discoursed  of  "wracks"  and  finally 
took  the  major  away  up  the  road  to  see  the  "  most 
awrfullest  hornets'  nest,"  which  he  proposed  to 
smoke  out  that  night,  seeing  that  "  them  that 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  275 

hornets'  nests  does  cure  up  the  asthma  right 
quick,"  and  had  become  desirable  as  a  means  of 
improving  Mrs.  Leslie's  temper  through  the  re- 
establishment  of  her  health. 

The  rain  kept  up  for  the  usual  three  days  of  a 
norther,  and  somehow  the  little  inn  seemed  pleas- 
ant enough  to  its  inmates.  The  old  twisted-legged 
piano,  which  in  its  youth  had  known  the  "  Battle 
of  Prague,"  was  startled  into  life  with  bits  of 
Beethoven,  until  at  last  something  went  wrong 
with  it  inside  and  it  apparently  gave  up  the 
ghost  of  its  musical  life,  amidst  unseemly  mirth. 
Then  a  good  walk  on  the  never  wet  sandy  roads 
was  always  in  order,  until  at  last  they  woke  to 
sunshine  again. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

"  Nightmare  of  youth,  the  spectre  of  himself.1' 

IT  is  said  that  in  the  best  of  us  there  is  that 
which  ought  to  enable  us  to  understand  every  form 
of  wickedness,  —  that  we  all  possess  this  alphabet 
of  hell,  and  only  do  not  use  it.  Yet  nothing  en- 
tirely explains  one  human  being  to  another,  or, 
indeed,  to  himself. 

There  are  crimes  which  insult  all  human  nature, 
and  surely  of  all  of  them  the  most  horribly  diffi- 
cult to  comprehend  is  the  betrayal  of  one's  coun- 
try. It  seems  to  involve  indirectly  almost  every 
other  sin.  Yet  why  it  should  have  troubled 
/  Richard  Darnell  less  than  his  effort  at  a  single 
^  murder  were  hard  to  say.  Nevertheless  this  was 
true.  He  judged  himself  somewhat  by  the  conse- 
quences of  his  acts,  and  he  had  intellectual  limita- 
tions in  his  capacity  for  seeing  these.  The  cause 
of  the  Confederacy  was  lost  before  he  began  to 
betray  it,  so  that  it  had  not  been  gravely  hurt  by 
him.  He  had,  too,  the  gambler's  temperament, 
which  made  a  risk  interest  him  in  proportion  to 
its  greatness.  Reckless  courage  removes  some  ob- 
stacles to  crime,  and  the  sensual  needs  of  a  life  of 
unrestrained  indulgence  are  the  final  bribes. 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  277 

Darnell  had  but  one  cowardice,  —  the  fear  of 
the  public  opinion  of  the  caste  to  which  he  be- 
longed. He  had  imperiled  himself  in  this  direc- 
tion more  than  once,  but  had  never  come  to  com- 
plete wreck.  The  large,  open  treachery  of  an 
Arnold  would  have  been  for  him  difficult. 

Like  most  men  of  his  type,  he  retained  for  a 
long  while,  and  then,  as  we  have  seen,  pretended 
to  retain,  some  special  form  of  respect  for  truth. 
Even  at  his  worst  a  lie  cost  him  something.  He 
did  not  cheat  at  cards  ;  and  to  kill  would  have 
been  for  him  easier  than  to  lie.  A  cruel  murderer 
has  been  known  to  reproach  one  to  whom  he  was 
calmly  describing  his  crime  for  supposing  he  could 
tell  a  deliberate  falsehood. 

Darnell  still  clung  to  this  shred  of  sentiment. 
"  I  told  you,  Octopia,"  he  said,  "  that  I  would  not 
trouble  Mrs.  Wynne.  Why  you  have  become  so 
tender  all  of  a  sudden  I  cannot  tell.  As  to  the 
money,  it  has  gone.  I  thought  I  could  do  better 
in  stocks  hi  Philadelphia ;  but  I  found  it  no  easier 
there  than  here." 

"  You  are  foolish  to  think  you  can  gamble  with 
those  men  on  Wall  Street.  How  much  do  you 
want  to-day  ?  " 

She  was  in  a  state  of  sad  recklessness,  the  out- 
come of  her  final  realization  of  Richard's  indif- 
ferent selfishness  and  her  own  wrong-doing.  She 
had  a  morbid  eagerness  to  give  it  all  and  get  done 
with  it  and  see  what  would  happen.  It  made  her 
lavish  when  she  might  have  restrained  him. 


278  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

As  to  Pennell,  who  had  come  to  understand  the 
situation,  he  smiled  a  little  as  he  honored  each 
check  in  turn,  and,  if  he  had  been  given  to  self- 
analysis,  would  have  perceived  that  he  did  not 
quite  dislike  the  idea  that  Miss  Darnell  was  ex- 
pending her  small  capital.  There  was  in  this  a 
flavor  of  the  commercial  training  of  the  man,  and 
he  would  have  disliked  it  if  it  had  been  thus  grossly 
presented  to  his  consciousness. 

Darnell  said  he  would  like  to  have  a  few  hun- 
dreds. 

"  How  much  ?  I  can't  write  a  check  for  a  few 
hundreds.  What  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  Well,  four  hundred  will  answer." 

He  took  the  check.  "  Thank  you,  dear  Octy," 
he  said.  "I  think  of  going  to  Virginia  for  a 
week."  He  did  not  say  he  was  going. 

"And  what  for?" 

"  Oh,  well,  there  are  those  coal-lands  in  Ka- 
nawha :  it  seems  possible  now  that  something 
might  be  made  out  of  them.  Don't  you  think 
Pennell  would  "  — 

"  We  will  leave  Mr.  Pennell  out  of  the  question ; 
I  will  not  have  you  applying  to  him." 

"  By  George !  if  you  talk  to  me  in  that  way  I 
shall  consider  our  little  bargain  at  an  end.  I  have 
no  doubt  Mrs.  Wynne  would  lend  us  the  money  I 
want." 

"  My  God,  Dick,  have  you  no  pity  left  ?  Am 
I  as  nothing  in  your  eyes  ?  Have  you  lost  all 
sense  of  honor  ?  "  She  was  beset  by  the  Nemesis 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  279 

of  the  menace  which  she  herself  had  more  or  less 
distinctly  employed. 

"  Why  I  should  not  be  free  to  borrow  money," 
he  said,  "  I  do  not  see."  He  began  to  dread  his 
sister's  interference.  "Do  you  think,  Octy,  that 
there  is  any  chance  for  me  with  Olivia  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know.  You  have  done  your  best 
to  lessen  your  chances.  Of  course  Mr.  Pennell 
knows  well  enough  how  foolishly  you  have  been 
living.  What  he  knows  they  will  know.  I  some- 
times think  you  must  be  mad.  And  as  to  Olive, 
you  seem  to  have  been  as  indifferent  of  late  as  if 
you  cared  nothing  for  her.  Women  resent  such 
neglect." 

"  I  wrote  to  her  twice  last  week,"  he  returned, 
sullenly.  It  was  true.  She  had  burned  his  letters 
unopened.  "  If,"  he  added,  "  you  had  let  the 
matter  alone  I  should  have  done  better." 

"  You  are  ungrateful,  Dick."  She  was  sorely 
hurt. 

"  Well,  will  you  go  with  me  to  the  Court- 
house ?  " 

"  I  will  not." 

"  Then  I  think  I  shall  go  alone." 

She  was  feeling  the  strain  of  this  interview  in 
renewed  physical  fatigue,  and  longed  to  have  it 
over.  She  was  pretty  sure  that  he  would  not 
limit  his  errand  to  seeing  Olivia  and  deciding  his 
fate  ;  but  what  could  she  do  that  she  had  not 
done? 

"  No,  don't  kiss  me,"  she  said.     "  What  have 


280  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

I  done  that  I  should  suffer  so  through  you  ?  Oh, 
Dick  !  Dick !  "  Then  she  started  up.  "  Let  us 
go  away,  brother,"  she  cried.  "  I  have  two  thou- 
sand dollars  left.  I  —  I  can  borrow  some :  I  think 
I  can.  We  will  go  out  West  and  begin  life  Over 
again,  —  oh,  we  could  do  it !  I  could  be  so  strong 
if  you  would  only  try  to  be  good  again.  Won't 
you,  Dick?" 

The  exaltation  of  a  woman's  noblest  hope  was 
in  her  eyes  as  she  stood  facing  him. 

"  Come,"  she  said,  yearningly.  "  You  will 
come  ?  " 

He  was  silent  a  moment,  and,  as  he  stood,  put 
the  check  automatically  in  his  breast-pocket.  The 
act  broke  in  upon  the  rising  impulse  to  accept 
this  offer  and  become  free  in  that  large  Western 
land. 

She  saw  his  doubt,  and  knew  him  well.  "  Shall 
it  be,  Dick  ?  We  should  like  it,  —  the  plains,  and 
cattle,  and  a  life  in  the  saddle ;  and  if  there  were 
risks,  Indians  and  what  not,  —  oh,  you  would  like 
them." 

As  he  withdrew  his  hand  he  felt  the  rustle  of 
the  check.  It  was  a  fatal  possession. 

"  I  will  see,  Octy.  You  are  very  good.  I  will 
see  when  I  come  back." 

Then  she  knew  that  she  had  failed,  but  not  that 
she  herself  had  provided  that  which  made  success 
just  then  improbable.  She  should  have  preached 
to  empty  pockets. 

As  for  Darnell,  a  moment  and  the  touch  of  a 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  281 

bit  of  paper  sufficed  to  turn  him.  The  sins  of  the 
minute  are  visited  on  their  offspring  the  years  ; 
and  the  time  came  to  Darnell  when  this  little 
fraction  of  a  day  was  remembered  with  that  bitter- 
ness of  regret  which  is  the  remorse  for  murdered 
opportunity. 

As  he  went  out  she  found  strength  to  say, 
"  Perhaps  you  will  think  better  of  it  then." 

He  was  so  handsome,  she  thought,  as  he  paused 
at  the  door,  so  strong,  and  so  distinguished  in 
bearing.  It  added  to  her  disappointment.  She 
was  hurt  all  over,  as  it  were. 

He  said  he  would  really  consider  it,  and  went 
away,  leaving  the  tall  woman  steadying  herself 
with  a  hand-clutch  that  trembled  on  the  chair- 
back. 

Not  long  after  she  wrote  to  Mr.  Pennell,  who 
had,  however,  left  the  city,  and  also  to  Olivia  the 
letter  we  have  read.  She  could  not  make  up  her 
mind  to  say  to  Mrs.  Wynne,  "  I  have  done  wrong ; " 
still  less  was  it  possible  for  her  to  explain  that 
Richard  knew  nothing  they  need  fear.  How  could 
she  do  this  ?  She  made  up  her  mind  that  there 
was  nothing  she  could  do  but  live  on,  in  the  hope 
that  Richard  would  no  more  dare  cheat  them  into 
believing  that  he  possessed  knowledge  which  he 
had  not  than  she  had  dared  to  use  that  which  was 
truly  available. 

The  next  moment  she  was  laughing,  —  that 
emotional  laugh  which  is  but  weeping  in 
pitiful  masquerade,  —  and  found  herself  no  more 


ROLAND  BLAKE. 


than  just  able  to  summon  Judith,  who  aided  her 
with  such  mechanical  routine  of  sympathetic  ex- 
pressions and  manual  assistance  as  enduring  habit 
had  made  easy. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

"  Ah '.  not  without  some  tender  throes 
Opes  the  red  bosom  of  the  rose." 

WHEN  Olivia  came  down  to  breakfast  Roland 
Blake  was  standing  at  the  open  window  of  the  lit- 
tle dining-room. 

"  Good-morning,  Miss  Wynne,"  he  said.  "  Come 
and  see  what  the  good  night  has  done  for  us  in  the 
way  of  weather."  He  was  busily  arranging  a 
triple  gang  of  hooks  on  a  line  for  the  benefit  of 
autumnal  lingerers  among  the  sheep's-head. 

She  came  into  the  window-place,  and  they  looked 
out  together.  A  strong  northwest  wind  was  tear- 
ing the  clouds  and  driving  them  like  the  white 
scuds  of  foam  on  the  sea  beneath.  There  was  a 
virginal  purity  in  the  storm-cleansed  air.  The 
rain  was  over.  A  little  vapor  was  crawling  up 
the  dark  slopes  of  the  newly-sunned  shingle  roofs. 
The  clink  of  the  blacksmith's  hammer  sounded  up 
the  road,  and  miles  away  the  hoarse  roar  of  the 
breakers  was  faintly  audible. 

"How  beautiful  it  is!"  she  said.  "And,  oh, 
there  is  Uncle  John.  I  must  ask  him  if  we  are  to 
see  those  beaches  to-day." 

As  she  turned  to  go,  Blake  said,  "  Take  care." 
He  was  too  late.  One  of  the  hooks  caught  in  the 


284  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

shoulder  of  her  dress,  and,  as  he  instantly  let  go 
his  hold,  a  second  fastened  itself  short  in  his  coat- 
sleeve  and  entered  his  arm.  He  cried,  instinc- 
tively, — 

"Don't  move  for  a  moment.  It  did  not  hurt 
you,  I  trust?  I  am  rather  better  caught." 

They  were  very  close  together,  —  so  near,  in- 
deed, that  he  was  unable  to  use  his  free  arm  to 
extricate  her. 

The  personal  contact  troubled  the  girl.  "  Pull 
it  out,"  she  said ;  "  tear  the  dress ; "  and  she 
flushed,  and  then  added,  "  Pardon  me :  I  hurt  you. 
Is  n't  it  ridiculous?" 

"  Halloa,  Uncle  John  !  come  in  here,  —  quick, 
please,"  he  said.  Then  they  both  laughed. 

When  Uncle  John,  having  put  on  his  large  sil- 
ver spectacles,  became  aware  of  the  situation,  he 
broke  out  into  a  laugh  which  filled  the  little  room. 
"Waal,  now,"  he  said,  "major,  no  pawson  could 
V  done  it  better.  You  air  j'ined  together  sure 
enough.  You  jus'  hold  on  and  1 11  divorce  you." 

Blake  was  angry.  "  Don't  talk :  just  pull  it  out 
of  the  sleeve.  Can't  you  see  I  am  suffering?" 
And  he  was  —  for  the  woman. 

"  Waal,  a  hook  are  n't  much  for  a  man 's  bin  as 
much  shot  at  as  you.  Thar !  " 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Olivia.  "  I  begin  to  sym- 
pathize with  fish.  Are  you  in  pain,  Mr.  Blake  ?  " 

"  No :  it  is  of  no  moment.  I  '11  be  back  pres- 
ently." And  so  saying,  he  went  out  with  Leslie. 
There  was  a  little  rough  surgery  done  in  the 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  285 

kitchen,  and  he  returned  in  some  twenty  minutes, 
laughing. 

"  I  'm  all  right,  Miss  Wynne." 

Miss  Wynne  was  gone,  and  the  breakfast  un- 
touched. 

He  sat  down  and  waited,  hoping  that  she  would 
return.  He  missed  her,  and  began  to  reflect  that 
she  had  become  to  him  in  some  way  necessary. 
The  little  scene  in  the  window  had  strangely 
affected  him.  He  rose  and  poured  out  his  cup  of 
coffee,  and  then  again  sat  down.  By  her  plate 
he  had  put  a  mass  of  golden-rod  and  asters;  he 
glanced  at  them,  and  a  feeling  of  dismay  came 
over  him.  He  had  not  made  love  to  her  or  been 
socially  guilty  of  anything  akin  to  courtship :  he 
had  innocently  committed  the  more  fatal  error  of 
showing  to  a  rich  feminine  nature  the  best  that 
there  was  in  an  upright  gentleman  with  a  danger- 
ous flavor  of  poetry  and  playful  humor,  and  a 
mind  of  unusual  force.  He  was  faintly  conscious 
that  she  liked  to  be  with  him,  but  beyond  that  he 
did  not  dare  to  go  in  his  effort  at  guiding  conclu- 
sions. 

That  he  might  be  blamed  by  some  one  annoyed 
him.  The  girl  was  almost  alone  in  the  world,  — 
certainly  unguarded,  —  and  her  grandmother  was 
very  old  and  apparently  more  thoughtful  of  her 
own  comfort  than  of  Miss  Wynne. 

"  I  am  too  self-critical,"  he  said  to  himself.  In 
fact,  he  had  that  fine  honor  which  is  to  mere  hon- 
esty as  is  the  flower  to  the  leaf. 


286  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

He  could  go  away.  He  could  speak  to  Mrs. 
Wynne.  He  could  wait ;  but  for  what  ?  And 
there  was  that  Darnell  business.  The  sense  of 
possible  danger  or  discomfort  to  this  woman  made 
him  decide  that  to  leave  her  now  was  impossible. 

She  came  in,  looking  pale,  as  he  thought,  took 
up  the  flowers,  and,  thanking  him,  sat  down  and 
began  to  talk  rapidly.  She  hoped  his  arm  did 
not  hurt  him ;  and  had  he  arranged  for  the 
beaches  ?  and  would  Mrs.  Ludlam  go  ? 

By  and  by  they  finished  their  breakfast,  both 
having  some  sense  of  constraint  upon  them. 

Then  she  went  out,  leaving  her  flowers  ;  but 
when  they  assembled  at  the  door  for  their  expedi- 
tion he  saw  that  she  wore  a  spray  of  the  yellow 
plumes  in  her  belt. 

As  they  were  about  to  start,  the  little  stage 
from  Cape  May  drove  up,  and,  to  their  surprise, 
Addenda  Pennell  and  Philip  Francis  got  out. 

The  former  shook  hands  with  Olivia.  "  Why, 
Miss  Olivia,"  he  said,  "  you  look  like  another 
woman." 

"  I  feel  like  one.  Mr.  Blake,  our  oldest  friend, 
Mr.  Pennell." 

"  I  think  we  have  met  before,"  said  Blake,  smil- 
ing. "  I  am  glad  to  see  you  again." 

"  Have  you  been  here  long  ?  "  inquired  Pennell. 

"  About  three  or  four  weeks." 

"  Indeed  !  And  how  is  Mrs.  Wynne,  Miss 
Olivia  ?  " 

"  Oh,  wonderfully  well.     She  will  see  you  later; 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  287 

you  know  she  sees  no  one  but  me  in  the  morning, 
and  to-day  I  am  off  duty  because  we  are  going  to 
the  beaches." 

Then  Francis,  who  had  been  looking  after  his 
baggage  and  had  merely  lifted  his  hat,  came  up, 
and  was  duly  presented  to  Miss  Wynne. 

"  Indeed,"  he  said,  "  I  am  an  older  acquaintance 
of  Miss  Wynne  than  you  are,  Blake."  Olivia 
laughed.  "  It  is  a  pretty  forlorn  old  town  you 
have  all  come  to.  What  on  earth  do  you  do 
with  yourselves  all  day  ?  " 

"  We  sew,  we  read,  we  sketch,  we  walk,  and  on 
Sunday  we  go  to  church." 

"  But,  as  I  neither  sew,  nor  sketch,  nor  read  all 
day,  unless  it  is  a  week  of  Sundays  here,  like  a 
camp-meeting,  I  do  not  see  where  my  resources 
are  to  lie." 

"I  forgot  to  say  we  talk,"  said  Olivia.  "But 
now  you  must  all  go  to  the  beaches  with  us.  It 
is  a  perfect  day." 

A  half  hour  later  they  were  at  the  bank  of  the 
nearest  water-way. 

"  You  will  have  to  pull  Miss  Wynne  in  the 
small  bateau,"  said  Leslie.  "  Guess  I  '11  take  care 
of  the  rest.  My  big  boat  's  jes'  a  leetle  mawsel 
wet."  The  old  fellow's  eyes  twinkled  as  they 
rowed  away. 

The  coast  of  New  Jersey  is  guarded  from  the 
sea  along  most  of  its  length  by  a  vast  system  of 
inland  water  navigable  for  small  craft.  Countless 
marshy  inlands  lie  between  the  crossing  net- work 


288  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

of  salt  streams,  and  to  the  eastward  vast  beaches 
hold  the  sea  at  bay. 

Through  these  water-ways  the  boats  glided 
under  the  warm  sun  of  a  faultless  September 
morning.  On  the  banks  at  the  water-line  the 
sedge  oysters  hung  thick.  Uncle  John  stopped 
now  and  then  to  gather  the  best,  or  waded  ashore 
to  secure  a  supply  of  luckless  shedder  crabs  for 
dinner.  On  the  salt  boggy  islands  long  grasses 
sparkled  in  the  light,  and  here  and  there  a  fish 
rose  and  broke  the  brown  water. 

A  sense  of  happy  peace  came  upon  the  girl 
as  she  lay  back  in  the  stern  and  let  her  hands 
hang  over  the  low  thwarts  to  feel  the  babble  and 
caress  of  the  water.  Sometimes,  as  they  followed 
Leslie,  the  boat  passed  through  bayous  so  narrow 
that  the  oars  disturbed  the  monastic  life  of  mussel 
and  sedge-oyster  on  the  black  mud  of  the  banks, 
then  they  shot  out  into  a  gleaming  thoroughfare 
and  felt  the  rough  greeting  of  the  viking  north 
wind. 

That  these  two  young  people  had  come  to  know 
each  other  so  well  that  silence  had  ceased  to  seem 
awkward  might  have  been  significant.  The  boom 
of  the  tumbled  surf  grew  nearer.  Miss  Wynne 
laughed  gently,  a  girl's  pure  laugh  of  joy,  —  an 
inheritance  from  childhood's  possibilities  of  ex- 
pression. He  looked  at  her,  wishing  she  had  not 
so  tied  down  the  broad  straw  hat  as  to  hide  that 
pleasant  profile,  —  the  nose  that  was  yet  a  trifle 
pronounced,  the  chin  that  was  so  full  and  strong 


ROLAND  BLAKE. 


that  interpretative  nature  had  felt  the  need  of 
qualifying  it  with  the  comment  of  a  dimple. 

"Why  do  you  laugh?"  he  said.  "What 
amuses  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  amused  ;  I  am  only  happy.  Unless 
one  says  so,  there  is  no  other  way  to  tell  except 
just  to  laugh." 

"  And  what  makes  you  happy?  " 

"  What  makes  any  one  happy,  Mr.  Blake  ?  " 

"  Really,  I  do  not  know.  As  a  Yankee,  it  is 
my  normal  function  to  ask  questions.  When  one 
thinks  it  over,  we  Yankees  have  answered  more 
grave  questions  for  the  world  than  we  have  asked 
it." 

"  Yes,  that  is  true.  I  envy  those  who  have 
helped  to  answer  them." 

"  But  envy  is  incompatible  with  happiness,"  he 
laughed. 

"  And  yet  I  am  happy,"  she  said,  contentment 
in  her  whole  attitude.  "  Why,  all  nature  to-day 
is  like  a  fairy  godmother  fetching  me  gifts.  The 
sun  says,  '  I  am  yours,'  and  the  water  whispers 
pleasant  things  —  oh,  very  nice  little  secrets  —  to 
my  fingers  as  it  goes  by,  and  the  wind  is  like  a 
friendly  whisper,  and  I  am  young  and  well,  and 
how  should  I  not  be  happy  ?  I  wish  I  were  a  poet 
to-day." 

"  Perhaps  you  are." 

"  I  ?  —  oh,  no,"  and  she  laughed,  a  good  honest 
laugh ;  "  I  am  only  a  foolishly  glad  young  woman. 
But,  now  I  have  confessed  myself,  pray  what  were 


290  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

you  thinking  of?  You  were  silent  too.  Were 
your  thoughts  worth  a  penny?  The  Spanish  peas- 
ants have  a  much  nicer  way  of  putting  it.  They 
say,  '  Give  me  of  the  gold  of  your  thoughts.'  " 

"  How  pretty !  "  he  said.  "  If  you  really  want 
to  know,  my  mind  was  on  a  holiday  wandering. 
I  was  thinking  of  my  boy-life,  and  of  our  rough 
New  England  coast,  and  of  Paris,  and  of  what  the 
future  holds  for  me  in  its  shut  hand." 

"  You  will  go  back  to  your  work  as  an  engineer, 
I  suppose.  How  comfortably  it  must  steady  a 
person  to  have  regular  duties  and  to  feel  that  they 
are  enlarging  all  the  time !  Oh,  that  is  where  a 
girl's  life  is  wanting  I  And  yet  I  am  sure  I  should 
not  desire  to  be  a  man." 

"  You  are  quite  right.  I  find  I  am  beginning 
to  feel  the  want  of  daily  duties.  I  think  I  shall 
very  soon  return  to  France  and  complete  my 
course  at  the  School  of  Mines." 

"Indeed?" 

"  Yes.  Ah !  here  we  are."  And,  as  he  spoke, 
the  boat  ran  upon  the  inner  shore  of  the  boggy 
green  marsh  which  lay  to  landward  of  the  great 
island-beach. 

Mrs.  Ludlam,  intent  on  chicken-grapes,  walked 
up  towards  the  single  small  house  which  lay  at 
the  north  end  of  the  island,  and  the  rest  of  the 
party  kept  on  across  a  raised  bank  towards  the 
sea.  Uncle  John  felt  all  the  importance  of  a 
guide.  "  Them  's  fiddlers,  Miss,"  he  said,  —  "  fid- 
dler  crabs.  I  can  jus'  set  and  see  them  by  the 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  291 

hour.  There  's  a  lop-sidedness  about  them  critters 
that's  jus'  like  some  men."  Pennell  was  very 
happy,  and  asked  innumerable  questions.  Then 
they  watched  the  fish-hawks  swoop  down  on  their 
prey  and  rise  empty-handed  or  laden,  while  Olivia 
gathered  the  several  varieties  of  primrose  and 
asters  and,  to  her  delight,  a  rare  plume  of  white 
golden-rod. 

Uncle  John  had  some  queer  comment  on  all 
they  saw.  He  was  an  uneducated  observer,  with 
a  touch  of  the  sentiment  so  often  to  be  found  in 
the  American  of  his  class,  the  lonely  dweller  in 
woods  or  by  the  sea. 

"Now,  Mr.  Pennell,  them  mulleins  is  cur'ous  ; " 
as  he  spoke,  he  gave  one  to  Olivia.  "  They  're 
late  flow'rin'  on  the  beaches.  If  you  bend  one 
of  'em  like  this,  it  don't  break  short-like,  and  in 
about  a  week,  maybe,  it  jus'  turns  up  straight, — 
this  way.  It  don't  mend,  you  see,  Miss,  but  it 
straightens  up." 

"  That  is  singular,"  said  Blake. 

"  Waal,  the  puie  '11  do  much  the  same.  If  you 
cut  off  the  top  of  the  tree,  the  next  branches  they 
turns  up.  But  them  mulleins,  —  seems  to  me 
they  're  a  bit  like  a  man  thet  's  done  somethin' 
wrong  and  jus'  sets  himself  to  straighten  up." 

"  Here  's  another  poet,"  said  Blake  aside  to  Miss 
Wynne. 

"Yes.     Is  n't  he  delightful?" 

Pennell  stood  still,  gravely  contemplative.  "  I 
pity  that  mullein,"  he  said,  seriously,  —  "  and  the 


292  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

'*  Not  if  he  gets  straight,"  returned  Olivia. 

"  Oh,  fellows  that  go  quite  crooked  once  don't 
get  straight,"  remarked  Francis,  while  Pennell 
turned  and  walked  on  in  advance  of  the  little 
group. 

"  Don't  believe  that,"  said  Uncle  John,  and  pres- 
ently was  deep  in  tales  of  shipwreck. 

Then  Olivia  joined  Pennell  and  talked  of  her 
grandmother,  while  Francis  strayed  aside  to  in- 
spect an  ants'  nest;  so  that  Leslie  and  Blake  were 
left  together. 

"  Colonel,"  said  the  former,  who  liked  titles  and 
occasionally  promoted  the  young  man  a  grade  or 
two,  "  I  saw  a  man  at  the  Cape  wharf  day  before 
yesterday  inquirin'  about  Mrs.  Wynne.  He  heard 
Joe  Holmes  askin'  if  I  would  take  a  trunk  to 
the  Court-house.  He  wanted  to  know  who  was 
stayin'  here ;  and  when  I  told  him  thar  were  Mrs. 
Wynne  and  the  young  woman  and  you,  he  said  he 
knowed  you." 

"  Indeed !     And  what  was  his  name  ?  " 

"  I  did  n't  mind  to  ask  him,  sir.  He  was  dark- 
ish-complected, and  had  a  heap  of  hair  on  his  up- 
per lip ;  good-lookin'  man ;  straight  as  a  ma'sh 
cat-tail." 

Blake  had  little  doubt  as  to  his  identity.  "  Did 
he  say  he  was  related  to  Mrs.  Wynne  ?  " 

"  Now  I  mind  me,  he  did.  Guess  he  '11  be 
along  soon.  He  seemed  to  want  to  hear  all  about 
you  folks." 

"  I  think  I  know  him.     And  now,  here  we  are 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  293 

together  again ;  and  what  is  the  programme  ? 
Who  is  in  command  ?  " 

Mr.  Pennell  thought  he  would  like  to  see  the 
life-saving  station,  and  how  the  mortar  was  used 
to  cast  a  line  to  a  ship.  Francis  had  been  em- 
ploying his  sufficiently  busy  powers  of  observation 
all  the  morning.  He  too  professed  intense  inter- 
est in  life-boats,  and  wished  to  know  a  little  more 
about  Richard  Holmes,  the  hero  of  the  coast-guard, 
and  would  go  with  Mr.  Pennell,  whom  he  found 
an  agreeable  study.  Then  Blake  said  that  if  Miss 
Wynne  liked  to  sketch  the  sand-dunes  he  was  at 
her  service,  and  they  could  be  back  in  time  to 
lunch  at  one. 

"And  be  sure  you  see  Booby-town,"  said  Les- 
lie ;  but  when  Miss  Wynne  appealed  to  him  to 
know  what  this  was,  the  old  fellow  replied  that  it 
was  "  where  them  boobies  is." 

Francis  ironically  advised  his  friend  to  acquire 
right  of  citizenship  in  Booby-town,  which  would 
perhaps  be  a  sufficient  recognition  of  his  folly  in 
having  wasted  four  years  in  killing  men.  Then 
Blake  said  the  honor  ought  to  be  divided,  on  which 
Francis  declared  that  he  too  was  instinctively 
drawn  towards  Booby-town,  and  would  leave  Mr. 
Pennell  to  the  educating  influences  of  Uncle  John. 

"  It  sounds  promising,  "  he  said.  "  Now,  major, 
you  have  only  to  obey  your  subjectivity  in  order 
to  attain  Booby-town." 

"Phil!  Phil!"  cried  Blake,  laughing,  "don't 
venture  near  that  town  ;  you  will  never  get  away." 


294  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

Pennell  listened,  and  gravely  examined  Fran- 
cis's remark.  The  latter  went  on  with  unmoved 
countenance  to  state  that  trustful  obedience  to  as- 
similative yearnings  might  assist  the  dubious 
seeker  for  Booby-town.  There  was  saucy  recog- 
nition in  Olivia's  eyes,  and  a  faint  sense  of  not 
liking  the  chaff  because  of  its  resemblance  to  some 
one's  familiar  wheat. 

"  Oh,  talk  English,"  said  Blake,  "  or  good  Jer- 
sey, Phil.  Miss  Wynne  won't  understand  your 
camp-fire  nonsense.  He  is  nothing  but  an  old 
coffee-cooler,  Mr.  Pennell." 

"  And  what  is  a  coffee-cooler  ?  "  inquired  Uncle 
John. 

"  A  man  who  blows  his  coffee  while  the  brigade 
is  going  by  into  action.  But,  while  you  cool  coffee, 
where  is  and  what  is  Booby-town?" 

"  Foller  yer  nose,  down  the  beach,  sou-sou- 
west,"  explained  Leslie. 

"  That  's  clear,  Mr.  Leslie,"  cried  Francis. 
"  Miss  Wynne,  how  can  a  man  with  Blake's  inti- 
mate relations  with  nature  fail  to  have  some  latent 
cognition  of  Booby-town  !  Intuitive  acceptance 
of  the  dominant  is  the  true  needle  of  the  soul." 

"  Phil !  Phil !  for  shame  !  "  cried  his  friend. 

"  The  dominant !  "  exclaimed  Pennell,  honestly 
endeavoring  to  comprehend. 

"  Don't  mind  him,"  explained  Blake.  "  He 
can't  help  it." 

"  I  was  alluding  to  Mr.  Leslie's  directions," 
laughed  Francis. 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  295 

Every  one  laughed,  —  some  for  reason,  some 
for  company  in  mirth. 

"  My  latent  benevolence  becomes  radiant  at 
times,"  said  Francis,  "  like  heat." 

"  Oh,  a  truce,  a  truce,  Phil !     Let  's  be  off." 

"  A  truce  ?  with  pleasure.  Peace,  if  you  like. 
I  thought  you  might  prefer  Concord." 

"  He  is  very  bad  to-day,  Miss  Wynne.     Let  us 

go." 

"  I  think  Mr.  Francis  spoke  of  joining  us,"  said 
Olivia.  "  I  should  like  to  be  further  instructed." 
In  fact,  she  was  shyly  timid  as  to  this  walk.  Her 
maiden  conscience  was  alert  and  on  guard. 

Francis  said  he  should  like  it,  and  Blake  pre- 
tended delight  as  they  strolled  off  down  the  white 
sand  beach. 

"  You  took  your  time  about  coming  to  the  Court- 
house, Phil,"  said  Blake,  conscious  that  the  disap- 
pointment had  not  been  without  mitigation. 

"  It  does  not  seem  to  have  taken  the  bloom  out 
of  his  youthful  cheek,  Miss  Wynne.  I  have  no- 
ticed that  some  elderly  people  show  decay  by  an 
improvement  in  color.  I  don't  mean  to  offer  any 
excuses  for  absence.  My  acquaintance  with  you 
is  of  so  much  older  date  than  my  friend's  that  I 
can  afford  to  retire  behind  your  appreciation  of 
my  character." 

"  Upon  my  word,"  said  Miss  Wynne,  "  I  don't 
think  our  mode  of  introduction  was  altogether 
creditable  to  you,  —  a  warrior  who  took  refuge 
from  rain ! " 


296  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"  Oh,  you  can't  make  it  worse  than  I  made  it 
when  1  related  it  to  Blake.  It  lost  nothing  of  its 
picturesqueness ;  and  I  must  say  I  was  flattered 
at  having  been  taken  for  Mr.  Darnell." 

Blake  was  silent. 

"  Well,"  said  Olivia,  quietly,  —  not  quite  liking 
the  talk,  — "  as  I  had  never  seen  my  cousin,  I 
might  have  taken  any  one  for  him.  Where  did 
you  see  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  know,  after  he  got  to  Fort  Delaware 
I  sent  him  some  little  luxuries." 

"  After  he  got  to  Fort  Delaware  I  Then  you 
knew  him  before?  " 

"  Yes.  I  knew  him  through  my  friend  Blake. 
And  after  I  was  wounded,  I  came  up  to  Fortress 
Monroe  on  the  same  boat  with  him." 

The  moment  he  spoke  he  was  conscious  that  he 
had  made  a  social  stumble,  as  he  saw  Miss  Wynne 
glance  quickly  at  Blake,  who  said  at  once,  — 

"  I  knew  Mr.  Darnell  slightly.  We  met  by  an 
odd  accident." 

"  So  I  have  heard." 

Olivia  made  no  further  comment  in  words,  but 
it  seemed  to  her  odd  that  in  some  way  Darnell 
had  never  before  been  mentioned  by  Mr.  Blake. 
It  troubled  her,  and  yet  she  hardly  knew  why. 

Presently  they  were  between  the  sand-dunes 
and  the  restless  sea,  —  Blake  quiet  and  monosyl- 
labic, Francis  in  his  gayest  mood  of  reckless  mer- 
riment,  Olivia  happy,  amused,  and  joyous.  At 
length,  a  mile  or  more  down  the  beach,  they 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  297 

climbed  a  sand -hillock  and  sat  down.  To  left 
and  right  the  dunes  stretched  north  and  south. 
Landward  rose  a  wood  of  oaks  and  maple  touched 
with  the  faint  gold  and  red  of  hastening  autumn 
days.  The  trumpet-creeper  was  over  them  in  ar- 
bored  masses  and  swung  swaying  clusters  in  the 
fresh  salt  air.  About  them  on  the  stunted  cedars 
the  fox  grapes  hung  thick.  Below  were  scant 
bushes,  —  honest  yellow  of  golden-rod,  and  purple 
asters,  with  the  sand-loving  prickly  pear  and  brown- 
ing ferns. 

Francis  stood  up,  smiling  as  usual,  —  a  man 
restless  in  mind  and  legs ;  Olivia  looked  about 
her  and  was  silent ;  and  Blake  sat  watching  the 
green  mounds  of  water  crash  into  tumbled  snow 
upon  the  sands  below  them,  the  tide  being  at  full 
flood.  The  air,  the  sea,  the  sky,  were  full  of  gen- 
tle interpretations  for  these  two,  while  their  com- 
panion was  quite  outside  of  their  mood  of  rela- 
tionship to  the  sunny  world  about  them. 

Blake  spoke  first :  — 

"  The  north  wind  shall  my  kinsman  be, 
My  soul  call  cousin  with  the  sea  "  — 

"  The  ma'sh  a  mother-in-law  to  me,"  cried 
Francis. 

"  You  are  insufferable,  Phil." 

"  Acceptivity  is  not  regnant  in  all  souls,  Roland. 
Good-by.  I  shall  take  a  look  for  Booby-town. 
Be  back  in  a  half  hour.  You  won't  come?  Well, 
—  if  you  only  knew,  Miss  Wynne,  how  much  meta- 
physics I  have  endured  at  his  hands  or  lips,  you 


298  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

would  consider  my  desires  for  vengeance  natural. 
I  leave  you  at  his  mercy.  He  is  pretty  bad.  I 
have  half  a  mind  to  give  you  a  text,  Roland,  in 
case  you  should  chance  to  lack  ideas." 

"  Clear  out,  wretch !  "  shouted  Blake ;  and  the 
tormentor  went  laughing  around  the  dune  and  was 
lost  to  sight. 

And  now  she  was  glad  at  the  minute ;  he  jarred 
on  her  sense  of  contentment  with  the  good  things 
around  her. 

"I  was  here  last  week  at  dusk,"  said  Blake. 
"  You  can't  imagine  how  weird  it  was.  These  dead 
trees  —  holly  and  scrub  oaks,  I  think  —  buried  in 
the  moving  dunes,  and  on  top  those  yet  alive  bent 
landward,  with  their  branches  stretched  away  from 
the  shouting  sea,  like  flying  things  agonized  with 
fear." 

"  How  strange !  I  should  like  to  see  it  at  sun- 
set ;  but  I  can  imagine  it.  How  splendid  the  roll- 
ers are  !  See  that  one  !  It  must  be  a  mile  long. 
How  straight  it  is !  " 

"  It  brings  back  to  me,  Miss  Wynne,  a  strange 
memory.  You  know  how  often  the  rush  of  the 
hurrying  waves  has  been  compared  to  a  charge. 
I  was  standing  on  the  brow  of  Cemetery  Hill  at 
Gettysburg  when  we  saw  the  gallant  charge  of 
the  Virginians  and  Texans.  As  I  watched  them 
a  half  mile  away,  the  recollection  of  our  seaside 
at  home  and  of  the  proud  march  of  these  long 
rollers  came  over  me  with  a  sort  of  shock  of  re- 
membrance, —  the  steady  line  getting  larger  as  it 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  299 

came,  the  small  breaks  and  confusions  here  and 
there,  the  growing  sound,  the  last  wild  rush  and 
crash  and  thunder  and  the  swift  retreat.  I  had  a 
moment  of  confidence  in  the  thought  of  our  surely 
\f  routed  waves,  just  as  if  it  made  the  result  certain. 
They  were  almost  on  us  before  I  got  it  out  of  my 
head.  Poor  fellows  !  " 

**  I  can  see  it.  How  little  you  speak  of  the  war, 
Mr.  Blake  !  I  hardly  ever  heard  you  say  much." 

"  No.  It  was  for  me  a  merely  sad  duty.  I 
hated  it.  I  hope  I  did  it  well." 

"  I  am  sure  you  did." 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  simply,  and  they  were 
silent  a  moment,  while  Olivia  took  up  the  sand 
in  her  hands  and  lightly  shook  it  through  her  fin- 
gers as  he  watched  them.  She  had  a  mysterious 
pleasure  in  the  cool  white  contact. 

"You  make  a  nice  hour-glass,  Miss  Wynne." 

\/  A  line  of  "  Locksley  Hall "  came  into  his  mind. 

He  checked  his  speech  in  time.    She  laughed  gayly. 

"  My  hour-glass  has  advantages."  And  she  shut 
her  hand.  "  Now  time  stops.  What  are  you  say- 
ing, Mr.  Blake  ?  Sometimes  you  have  a  way  of 
saying  things  with  your  lips  but  not  aloud.  It  is 
not  at  all  fair,  because  I  must  have  suggested  the 
thought." 

He  was  murmuring,  — 

"  Oh,  grant  to  me  the  endless  chime 
Of  one  unchanged,  unchanging  hour." 

"  Some  reflections  are  scarcely  worthy  of  the 
honors  of  speech,"  he  replied. 


300  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"  But  I  am  curious.     I  always  want  to  know. 
Are  you  ever  curious,  like  a  girl,  —  really  curi- 
ous?" 
\/   "I?  "  he  said.     "  I  have  all  of  Eve  in  me." 

"  Then  "  —  and  she  hesitated  a  little  —  "  will 
you  mind  my  asking  you  why  you  wanted  to  know 
where  you  could  find  us?  You  asked  Mr.  Pen- 
nell,  you  know." 

He  was  startled :  he  was  at  that  moment  think- 
ing of  this  very  matter. 

"  Yes,"  he  returned.  "  I  had  a  reason,  and  a 
good  one." 

"  Indeed !  oh,  now  I  am  really  curious." 

"  Have  you  any  near  friend,  Miss  Wynne,  —  a 
man,  I  mean,  —  whom  I  could  talk  to  ?  " 

Olivia  wondered,  and  was  a  little  troubled  also. 
He  felt  that  he  had  put  the  matter  awkwardly, 
and,  divining  her  possible  difficulty,  said,  in  haste,  — 

"  Something  came  to  my  knowledge  in  the  war 
which  made  me  think  I  ought  to  see  Mrs.  Wynne 
and  mention  it.  It  may  be  of  little  real  moment, 
but  it  may  be  serious." 

She  looked  her  concern. 

"  I  am  puzzled  what  to  do  about  it." 

"  There  is  only  Mr.  Pennell,"  she  said. 

"  I  wish  I  knew  him  better.  I  should  like  to 
wait,  but  events  do  not  wait  for  us." 

"  You  are  very  mysterious  ;  and  I  hate  myster- 
ies. Why  not  tell  me  ?  or  why  speak  of  it  to  me 
at  all,  if  you  cannot  tell  me  ?  " 

"  But  you  made  me.     I  could  not  help  it." 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  301 

"It  is  not  about  my  father ?  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  Your  father !  no.  I  wish  now  I  had  not 
spoken.  If  I  had  had  a  little  more  common  sense 
I  would  not  have  said  a  word ;  but  I  cannot  fib  to 
you.  I  had  to  say  something,  and,  to  tell  you  the 
simple  truth,  I  am  puzzled  what  to  say.  I  can  see, 
too,  that  I  have  troubled  you ;  and  I  —  I  would 
do  anything  rather  than  to  pain  you.  You  will 
forgive  me  ?  "  And  he  sought  answer  in  her  lifted 
eyes. 

"  There  does  not  seem  much  to  forgive,"  she 
answered. 

"  Yes,  yes,  there  is.  I  have  spoiled  a  pleasant 
day  for  you  ;  I  have  seemed  to  distrust  what  I 
trust  utterly.  What  a  world  is  this !  We  try  to 
do  right,  and  it  is  wrong.  We  grieve  what  we 
yearn  to  help.  If  you  were  a  man,  a  friend,  I 
could  talk  to  you  better ;  but  now  I  am  at  a  stand- 
still. I  wish  you  were  yourself  and  not  your- 
self"—  and  he  laughed  rather  strangely. 

A  tiny  little  temptation  arose  and  grew  in  the 
woman's  heart.  His  evident  trouble  began  to 
make  sharp  claims  on  her  tender  sympathies. 
"  But  am  I  not  a  friend  ?  "  she  said,  gently.  "  At 
least  I  would  rather  you  did  not  think  I  am  not." 

"  I  think  nothing  but  good  of  you." 

"  Suppose,  then,  I  tell  you  that  I  will  ask  noth- 
ing  more,  —  that  as  a  friend  I  will  trust  you  to 
do  right,  just  like  one  man  with  another." 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said.  "  If  I  felt  that  you 
would  be  really  secure  from  worry,  I  should  be 


302  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

satisfied.  I  think  I  see  my  way  better  now.  It 
is  but  a  matter  of  days." 

"  Only  one  thing  more,  Mr.  Blake  ;  you  will  not 
talk  to  grandmamma  ?  She  is  very  old." 

"  No ;  that  was  my  first  obstacle.  I  had  not 
realized  that  I  should  have  to  deal  with  a  woman 
so  aged  and  inert." 

"  Well,  then,  that  is  all,"  she  said,  rising. 

"  I  am  immeasurably  grateful,"  he  replied.  His 
tones  were  richer  in  meaning  than  his  words. 

*'  I  like  thanks,"  she  returned,  smiling.  "  They 
help  me  to  believe  a  little  in  my  own  goodness." 

She  was  embarrassed  by  his  manner,  and  said 
whatever  came  first  into  her  mind,  laughing  as  she 
stood,  for  he  delayed  to  rise.  Then  she  had  a 
shock  half  joy,  half  amazement,  as  when  to  a 
spring  bud  the  wooing  sun  first  makes  clear  his 
gentle  purpose,  —  a  flush,  a  stir,  a  tremor.  He 
had  taken  her  hand  as  she  stood,  and  put  it  to  his 
forehead,  and,  saying  only,  "  God  bless  you  !  " 
rose,  and  went  down  the  sand-dune. 

She  stood  a  second  speechless  and  flushed.  Then 
she  looked  after  the  young  man  and  at  the  back 
of  her  hand,  and  put  it  up  quite  near  to  her  own 
/  lips ;  but  whether  she  kissed  it  or  not  remains  un- 
known to  this  day.  Haply  she  thought  that  the 
form  the  matter  had  taken  was  unusual  as  between 
the  two  manly  friends  they  had  pretended  to  be. 
The  humorous  aspect  of  it  helped  her ;  for  to  run 
away  like  a  doe  was  her  deep  desire. 

He  waited  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  but  said  noth- 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  303 

ing,  the  full  force  of  nature's  greatest  ferment  hav- 
ing him  in  turbulent  possession. 

And  now  the  world  was  with  them  again  as 
Francis  came  up  through  the  space  between  the 
dunes. 

"  I  got  quite  lost,  Miss  Wynne,"  he  said,  "  or  I 
should  have  relieved  you  sooner.  Blake  can  be 
pretty  dull  at  his  worst.  Was  he  metaphysical, 
romantic,  or  practical  ?  I  think  you  look  a  little 
puzzled.  Tell  me,  now :  did  you  really  under- 
stand him  ?  " 

"  I  shall  leave  Mr.  Blake  to  reply,"  said  Olivia. 

"  Never  trust  what  Francis  may  say  about  me. 
Some  people  preserve  their  friendships,  and  some 
people  pickle  them." 

"  I  am  incapable  of  denying  anything  so  clever," 
cried  Francis ;  and  the  others  found  relief  in  co- 
partnership of  laughter. 

Presently  Blake  said  he  would  walk  on  rapidly 
to  tell  Uncle  John  they  would  be  on  hand  for 
lunch  in  a  few  minutes. 

"  There  goes  a  dangerously  good  man,"  said 
Francis.  "  If  he  does  n't  become  conceited  before 
he  's  forty  it  will  be  due  to  my  education  of  him." 

"Is  he  so  very  nice?"  she  said,  shyly. 

"  Oh,  I  suspect  that  women  don't  think  so. 
Rather  a  man's  man.  My  sister  declares  that  he 
is  dull." 

Olivia  began  to  have  the  obstinate  sense  of 
being  right  which  belongs  to  minorities.  "I 
should  hardly  call  him  dull,"  she  said.  "He  is 


304  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

thoughtful  and  reserved  at  times,  —  rather,  on  the 
whole,  an  interesting  man,  I  should  say ;  but  then 
my  experience  of  men  is  so  limited." 
s  Philip's  sister  had  said  that  Blake  was  her 
brother's  one  love-affair.  "Interesting?  Yes," 
he  returned,  "he  is  a  man  with  a  career  before 
him.  It  used  to  be  curious  to  me  to  see  him  in 
action.  The  worse  the  odds,  the  calmer  he  got." 

"  I  wonder,"  thought  Olivia,  remembering  his 
recent  emotion,  "  if  he  believed  the  odds  to  be  in 
his  favor."  She  colored  faintly. 

"When  we  were  sergeants  of  cavalry  in  the 
West  I  saw  him  volunteer  to  cross  a  river  in  face 
of  the  enemy's  sharpshooters  to  see  if  it  could  be 
forded.  Four  men  tried  it,  but  only  Blake  came 
back  alive.  On  the  bank  he  found  me  wounded : 
I  always  caught  it.  He  dismounted  under  an  aw- 
ful fire  and  put  me  on  his  horse  and  carried  me 
into  shelter.  The  rebs  ceased  firing  when  they 
v  saw  it.  If  they  had  not,  I  should  not  be  here  to 
tell  the  tale." 

"  No  wonder  you  are  friends,"  she  said,  and 
liked  him  from  that  minute. 

"  Don't  tell  Blake.  He  would  never  forgive  me, 
and  he  does  endlessly  lecture  me." 

"  I  will  be  very  discreet,"  she  returned,  much 
amused. 

"  But  he  is  always  doing  these  absurd  things. 
You  know,  Miss  Wynne,  a  good  many  of  us  are 
two  people,  and  one  is  constantly  getting  us  into 
scrapes  and  leaving  the  other  to  get  us  out." 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  305 

"  I  don't  think  I  fully  understand  you." 

"  Let  me  explain.  Blake  will  do  well  enough 
for  illustration.  At  times,  for  a  while  he  is  a 
romantic  gentleman,  seeing  only  the  poetical  and 
chivalrous  aspect  of  things,  and  acting  on  his  creed 
of  the  hour.  Then  in  walks  the  other  Roland 
Blake,  a  practical  New-Englander  of  this  century, 
and  has  to  take  the  consequences  of  the  other  fel- 
low's romance." 

"  I  see,"  she  said,  smiling.  "  But  what  a  curi- 
ous mode  of  stating  it."  She  was  thinking  that  it 
really  made  clearer  to  her  some  things  which  she 
had  found  it  difficult  to  comprehend. 

Francis  went  on  :  "  Now  his  saving  your  cousin 
Mr.  Darnell's  life  was  a  fair  example  of  what  I 
mean." 

"Yes,"  she  returned.  "Mr.  Darnell  told  me 
about  it." 

"  Now,  that  was  Roland  Blake  all  over,  Miss 
Wynne." 

Olive  liked  it,  and  walked  on  in  momentary 
silence,  wondering  again  why  Mr.  Blake  had  never 
mentioned  so  singular  a  story  in  their  many  talks. 
Presently  she  remarked,  "  We  must  hurry  a  lit- 
tle," and  said  something  about  fish-hawks. 

Francis  glanced  at  her  with  increasing  curiosity. 
He  began  to  have  certain  interesting  suspicions  as 
to  his  friend's  relation  to  the  handsome  girl  at  his 
side.  Then  he  merrily  recalled  his  visit  in  New 
York,  and  the  talk  drifted  about  pleasantly  with 
chat  of  men  and  things. 


306  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

Very  soon  they  were  at  the  house,  and  had  to 
confess  that  they  had  never  seen  Booby-town.  Un- 
cle Johii  declared  it  was  the  only  thing  worth  see- 
ing in  all  New  Jersey,  and  described  it  vividly  to 
Olivia  as  she  sat  in  the  kitchen  by  the  fire,  watch- 
ing him  roast  soft-shell  crabs,  —  a  thing  "  not  to 
be  trusted  to  no  woman." 

"  Now,  you  takes  a  big  clam  shell  and  puts  in  a 
lot  of  sedge  eysters,  and  a  crab  right  in  amongst 
'em,  and  you  shuts  the  two  shells  on  the  whole 
family,  and  ties  a  wire  round,  —  so,  —  and  sticks 
'em  in  the  coals.  Them  boobies  is  blue  heron 
There  's  a  thousand  on  'em ;  and  for  squawkin',  a 
camp-meetin'  ain't  nothin'  to  'em.  The  young 
uns,  they  're  about  six  feathers  on  two  sticks.  I 
do  wish  you  'd  'a'  seen  them  boobies.  It  raises  a 
man's  notions  of  human  nature  when  he  sees 
beasts  like  them.  Fish  done,  Mrs.  Ludlam  ?  " 

The  lunch  was  a  vast  success,  what  with 
sheep's-head,  crabs,  terrapin  eggs,  and  the  fruit 
they  had  brought  with  them.  Olivia's  gratitude 
was  such  that  she  declared  none  but  Uncle  John 
should  row  her  home  ;  and  what  she  did  not  learn 
on  the  way  as  to  boobies,  terrapin,  crabs,  and 
Jerseymen  were  little  worth  the  seeking.  He  had 
the  talk  to  himself,  and  Olivia  was  glad  to  be  si- 
lent. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

\S       "  Cursed  be  the  sickly  forms  that  err  from  honest  nature's  rale." 

THE  little  party  collected  at  the  inn  door  to- 
wards sunset,  after  a  walk  up  from  the  boats. 
Olivia  was  tired,  and  went  up-stairs  at  once  to 
see  Mrs.  Wynne.  Mr.  Pennell  had  heard  from 
Uncle  John  of  an  old  timepiece  in  the  village,  and 
turned  to  go  down  the  street  with  Leslie  to  see  it. 
As  the  latter  passed  Blake,  he  said,  — 

"  Colonel,  the  man  I  told  you  about  is  gittin' 
his  supper  inside.  Thought  you  might  want  to 
see  him." 

"  Thanks,"  said  Blake,  and,  taking  Francis 
quietly  aside,  he  said, — 

"  Phil,  walk  up  the  road  with  me ;  I  want  to 
talk  to  you  a  moment." 

"All  right,"  returned  the  other;  and  they 
strolled  away. 

" Now,  what  is  it,  Roland?  " 

"  That  man  Darnell  is  here  in  the  same  house 
with  us." 

"  And  what  then  ?  I  shall  eat  my  terrapin  all 
the  same." 

"  He  is  a  cousin  of  Miss  Wynne's." 

«  Well  ?  " 

"  He  is  a  scoundrel.     No  matter  how  I  know 


308  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

it.  Let  it  suffice  that  I  say  so.  He  is  capable  of 
every  crime." 

"  And  how  docs  that  concern  you  or  me,  Roland  ? 
We  are  not  detectives." 

"  You  see  what  kind  of  people  the  Wynnes  are. 
Here  are  two  gentlewomen  to  whom  he  comes  as 
an  unquestioned  relative :  at  least  I  suppose  so. 
They  may  know  all  about  him,  and  they  may 
know  nothing.  What  is  my  duty  in  the  matter? 
To  give  a  friend  half  knowledge  and  then  to  ask 
whole  advice  does  not  seem  reasonable,  and  yet 
that  is  the  situation,  Phil." 

"  It 's  a  little  awkward.  Could  n't  you  talk  to 
Mr.  Pennell  ?  he  seems  a  nice  kind  of  man.  I 
fancy  that  he  is  an  old  friend  of  theirs." 

"  I  have  thought  of  that ;  but  suppose  that  I 
can  only  say  to  him  what  I  have  said  to  you,  and 
no  more :  what  then?  I  can't  talk  to  the  women." 

"  No,  —  clearly  not.  It  seems  to  me  that  it  is 
narrowed  down  to  a  little  conversation  with  Dar- 
nell. Of  course  I  am  at  your  service  if  he  makes 
a  row." 

"  Oh,  there  will  be  no  duelling  nonsense,  Phil. 
I  should  as  soon  think  of  a  duel  with  a  rattle- 
snake. I  must  talk  to  him  alone." 

"I  don't  altogether  like  these  talks  without  a 
witness ;  but  I  suppose  you  know  best.  What  do 
you  fear?" 

"  Anything,  —  everything.  The  man  may  in- 
tend no  evil  here,  —  God  knows,  —  but  as  surely 
as  I  am  myself  a  man  I  do  not  mean  that  he  shall 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  309 

have  a  chance.  I  shall  not  act  hastily,  —  of  that 
you  may  be  sure;  nor  shall  I  speak  until  I  am 
certain  what  I  mean  to  do  in  case  my  tongue  does 
not  suffice.  If  I  knew  that  he  had  any  definite 
mischief  in  his  head,  I  should  be  better  prepared  to 
deal  with  him.  I  want  you  to  keep  an  eye  on  him. 
Between  us  he  cannot  have  much  opportunity." 

"  All  right,  old  man.  It  strikes  me  as  a  little 
absurd,  though." 

"  No  matter.  I  have  made  up  my  mind.  Now 
let 's  go  in  to  supper.  Absurdity  may  be  instinc- 
tive wisdom,  Phil.  A  man  who  does  not  respect 
his  own  individuality  of  opinion  is  like  "  — 

"A  turkey-gobbler  in  a  hail-storm,"  broke  in 
his  friend. 

Blake  laughed.  "Indeed,  Phil,  I  was  enough 
in  doubt  to  need  assistance.  Do  you  think  there 
is  any  question  on  earth  that  you  could  not  an- 
swer ?  " 

"I  might  imagine  one  or  two.  All  questions 
are  answerable.  Infinity  of  un-response  is  incon- 
ceivable. The  seon  shall  reply  to  the  riddle  of 
the  hour.  Divinity  alone  is  incomprehensible. 
Surely,  therefore,  the  more  incomprehensible  I 
am,  the  more  am  I  divine." 

"  Oh,  Phil,  Phil,  you  are  outrageous !  Are  you 
ever  serious  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  was  once,  for  a  minute,  when  I  heard 
a  man  of  Concord  declare  that  '  somewhere  in  the 
Infinite  there  is  an  eternal  teapot.'  That  made 
me  thoughtful :  it  did,  indeed," 


310  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"  I  am  not  surprised,"  said  Blake,  laughing. 

"  It 's  a  comfort  now  and  then,  Roland,  to  make 
you  want  to  anchor  or  blow  that  fog-horn." 

"  Thanks.  I  shall  owe  you  one.  I  see  my  own 
feather  on  the  fatal  dart." 

"  Well,  here  we  are.  I  rather  want  to  see  you 
meet  Mr.  Darnell.  As  a  student  of  human  nature, 
it  interests  me." 

"Hush,  Phil!     There  he  is." 

As  he  spoke,  Darnell,  who  was  standing  in  the 
doorway,  came  forward,  smiling.  His  movements 
were  easy,  and  even  graceful  like  those  of  his  sis- 
ter, and  in  the  high  carriage  of  his  head  and  the 
forward  set  of  the  chin  there  was  some  faint  sug- 
gestion of  self-esteem. 

"  Good-evening,  Mr.  Francis,"  he  said.  "  I  am 
glad  to  meet  you  again ; "  and  then,  turning  to 
Blake,  "  we  are  older  acquaintances,  major.  I  owe 
you  a  heavy  debt.  It  is  hardly  my  fault  that  it 
has  been  so  long  unacknowledged  in  person.  I 
wrote  to  you  twice  from  Fort  Delaware,  but  pre- 
sume my  letters  did  not  reach  you.  However,  it 
is  not  too  late  to  say  now  what  I  feel."  As  he 
began  to  speak,  he  put  out  his  hand,  which  Blake 
reluctantly  took. 

"  The  service  was  a  small  one,  Mr.  Darnell. 
Suppose  we  say  no  more  about  it." 

"  That  will  not  lessen  the  debt  for  me  ;  and  per- 
haps my  turn  may  come  some  day.  I  can't  but 
feel  very  glad  of  the  chance  of  knowing  you  bet- 
ter ;  and  you  are  going  to  be  here  for  some  time, 
I  trust." 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  311 

"  I  am  a  little  uncertain  as  to  my  stay.  It  de- 
pends on  circumstances." 

"  Well,  the  longer  the  better.  I  am  a  ruined 
Confederate,  and  have  nothing  on  earth  to  do. 
I  am  waiting  for  something  to  turn  up,"  he  added, 
bitterly.  "  I  suppose  we  rebels  are  not  very  ac- 
ceptable at  the  North  just  now." 

"  Oh,  nobody  cares  much,"  said  Francis,  — 
.X"  certainly  the  army  men  least  of  all.  Have  a 
cigar  ?  There  does  n't  seem  much  to  do  here  but 
smoke." 

"  I  suppose  one  can  find  a  horse  to  ride ;  and, 
after  all,  there  are  cards.  A  light,  please."  And 
then  Francis  and  the  Confederate  fell  into  talk  of 
shooting,  while  Blake  excused  himself  and  strolled 
away  down  the  street. 

He  wanted  to  be  alone.  The  feeling  uppermost 
in  his  mind  was  horror  at  the  neighborhood  of 
this  man  to  Olivia  Wynne.  He  felt  that  he  must 
be  careful.  Something  in  the  physical  beauty  of 
,y<Darnell  also  touched  strange  chords  in  the  young 
man's  heart  and  surprised  his  consciousness  with 
a  sense  of  pity  that  a  man  so  well  bred  and 
so  gentle  of  speech  should  be  so  base.  He  was 
haunted  also,  in  some  faint  degree,  by  that  idea  so 
often  dwelt  upon  in  romance,  that  he  was  meas- 
urably responsible  for  the  life  which  he  had 
lengthened.  He  smiled  at  the  thought,  but  it  in- 
tensified the  sadness  with  which  he  reflected  on 
his  own  duty. 

Then  he  put  it  all  aside,  and  turned  to  gentler 


312  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

dreams.  He  had  done  that  in  the  morning  which 
he  had  not  meant  to  do ;  but  he  could  see  now 
that  it  was  inevitable.  Self-forgiveness  became 
easy  as  he  reflected  that  she  had  shown  only 
sweet  confusion  and  not  anger.  He  wandered  on 
far  into  the  sombre  pine  woods ;  and  when  he 
came  back,  although  it  was  not  very  late,  it  was 
to  find  only  one  candle  on  the  entry  table  beside 
the  matches. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

"  She  carries  a  white  angel  in  her  breast, 
That  none  can  conquer  ;  and  all  falsities 
Before  these  two  bright  seraphs  of  her  eyes 
Turn  to  their  native  dust ;  a  shame-clad  cheek 
Is  stronger  than  a  sword  to  guard  the  weak." 

BLAKE  breakfasted  early,  and  was  off  for  a 
bath  and  a  pull  on  the  thoroughfare,  whilst  one 
by  one  the  rest  came  down.  As  far  as  being 
merry  was  concerned,  they  were  better  without 
him  ;  and  he  had  good  reasons  for  temporary  ab- 
sence. Francis  found  Mr.  Darnell  amusing,  and 
Pennell,  having  bought  his  clock,  was  serenely 
happy,  especially  as  he  had  succeeded  in  getting 
it  for  less  than  it  was  worth.  As  they  rose  to 
greet  Miss  Wynne,  Francis  was  struck  with  the 
ease  of  Darnell's  manner,  and,  as  he  spoke,  with 
the  soft  inflections  of  his  Southern  tongue.  He 
had  seen  his  cousin  Miss  Wynne  for  but  a  few 
minutes  the  night  before.  She  told  him  now  that 
Mrs.  Wynne  would  be  glad  to  see  him  after 
twelve,  and  asked  tranquilly  for  Octopia. 

Darnell  was  a  little  surprised  at  her  calmness. 
She  seemed  to  him  more  of  a  self-assured  woman 
and  less  of  a  girl.  He  noticed  also  that  she  looked 
at  the  door  now  and  then,  and  presently  saw  a 
little  flush  and  a  slight  stir  in  her  face.  He  sat  with 


314  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

his  back  to  the  windows,  and  could  not  see  what 
it  was ;  but,  as  she  looked  steadily  down  at  her 
plate,  Blake  came  in,  having  bad  his  spin  in  a 
boat  and  a  cool  plunge  in  the  salt  water. 

Towards  noon  Blake  saw  her  at  some  distance, 
walking  over  the  meadows  with  Darnell  at  her 
side.  That  was  natural  enough  ;  but  the  young 
fellow  set  his  teeth  as  he  watched  them.  They 
were  a  long  distance  off,  and  the  man  was  carry- 
ing her  sketching-chair. 

Blake  turned  away,  resolute  to  end  the  busi- 
ness as  soon  as  possible.  For  a  while  only  duty 
had  urged  him  on ;  now  there  was  something 
else  which  strengthened  resolve. 

Olivia  had  a  pretty  distinct  will  to-day  to  avoid 
Roland  Blake.  When  the  men  were  having  their 
after-breakfast  cigars  beneath  the  willows,  she 
read  awhile  to  Mrs.  Wynne,  and,  pleading  fatigue, 
escaped  with  her  drawing-materials  by  the  back 
garden,  went  around  through  the  pine  woods,  and 
walking  swiftly  across  the  low  land  was  soon  at 
her  ease.  Presently  she  heard  her  name,  and, 
turning,  saw  Richard  Darnell. 

"  I  thought  you  were  with  grandmamma,"  she 
said.  She  had  no  reason  to  fear  him,  but  she 
wished  him  away. 

"  Oh,  I  merely  went  in  to  tell  her  good-morn- 
ing ;  and  when  I  found  you  had  gone  to  the  mead- 
ows, as  her  maid  said,  I  thought  I  would  follow 
you.  Let  me  take  your  camp-stool.  I  should  like 
to  see  you  sketch." 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  315 

"  Very  well,"  she  said,  and  walked  on,  answer- 
ing his  questions  as  to  the  coast  and  the  people. 

He  was  bent  on  making  her  feel  at  ease,  and 
before  they  reached  the  landing  he  had  succeeded, 
so  that  she  began  to  hope  he  would  not  recur  to 
the  subject  of  their  last  interview  in  New  York. 

A  brief  time  there  had  been  when,  as  she  re- 
membered, she  had  come  dangerously  near  to  lik- 
ing him  well.  Now  she  read  his  wooing  in  the 
clear  frank  light  a  nobler  nature  had  cast  upon 
her  life.  If  he  spoke  again,  as  she  feared  he 
might,  she  would  be  very  gentle  ;  that  was  all. 

"  Where  are  you  going?  "  he  said,  as  she  got 
into  the  single  boat  at  the  landing-slip. 

"  I  shall  wait  for  Uncle  John.  I  sent  word  to 
him  to  meet  me  ;  but  he  has  failed  me,  I  fear." 

"  Let  me  row  you." 

She  hesitated.  She  disliked  to  say  no  without 
a  reason,  and  even  more  to  say  yes. 

"  Come,  Olive,"  he  said,  "  let  me  be  your  boat- 
man. I  shall  be  here  only  a  day  or  two,  and  then 
I  shall  go  home  to  Virginia.  You  need  not  be 
afraid,"  he  added,  seeing  her  reluctance. 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  afraid,"  she  said,  proudly.  "  Why 
should  I  be  afraid  ?  I  suppose  you  can  row  ?  " 

"I?     Of  course." 

She  got  in  without  more  words,  and  he  pushed 
off. 

"  I  want  to  go  around  that  point.  Then  the 
first  turn  to  the  left,  and  you  row  up  a  little  creek 
to  the  right.  There  is  an  old  wreck  I  want  to 
sketch." 


316  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

She  was  silent  for  ten  minutes,  busily  retouch- 
ing an  old  drawing ;  meanwhile  he  rowed  on  ab- 
sently, wrapt  in  passionate  study  of  her  face. 
Presently  she  looked  up.  "  You  are  wrong,  Cousin 
Richard.  I  should  have  watched  our  course." 

He  turned  the  boat  back,  and  took  another 
crossing  creek.  She  stood  up  and  looked.  They 
were  in  the  hopeless  mazes  of  a  hundred  water- 
ways. She  could  see  only  grass  and  the  mainland 
woods. 

"It  is  very  provoking,"  she  said. 

At  last  he  urged  that  she  should  let  him  try  to 
find  their  way  back,  but  in  ten  minutes  more  he 
had  to  confess  failure :  one  creek  was  like  another, 
and  they  all  seemed  crooked  past  belief. 

"  Upon  my  word,  I  am  sorry,  Olive." 

"  That  won't  help  us,"  she  said,  intensely  an- 
noyed. "  I  suppose  some  one  will  come ;  but  we 
may  be  here  all  day." 

Meanwhile,  the  boat  lay  adrift  in  the  outgoing 
tide.  Olivia  thought  of  her  former  scrape,  and 
laughed  a  little  nervously.  "  It  is  so  absurd,"  she 
said. 

Then  she  concluded  that  she  would  sketch,  — 
she  might  as  well  do  something,  —  and  would  he 
fasten  the  boat  to  the  bank?  This  was  not  easy 
to  do,  as  there  was  no  anchor,  and  he  could  only 
hold  on  by  the  grasses  for  a  time,  until  they  broke 
in  his  hands. 

They  had  started  quite  late,  and  an  hour  or  two 
had  gone  by.  It  was  after  noon.  She  had  told 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  317 

Darnell  he  must  not  talk  while  she  was  sketching. 
Therefore  he  sat  and  watched  her,  gnawing  his 
moustache,  not  saying  a  word,  accepting  the  joy 
of  merely  seeing  her.  He  only  knew  that  the 
girl  in  one  end  of  the  boat  was  a  presence  which 
filled  him  with  a  sense  of  womanly  competence  of 
face  and  form.  When  the  winds  petted  her  as 
they  went  by  and  she  put  up  her  pencil  absently 
to  push  back  a  lock  of  hair  they  had  displaced,  the 
prettiness  of  the  movement  did  not  capture  his 
attention. 

He  was  capable  of  volcanic  explosions.  His 
worst  had  been  the  result  of  abrupt  temptation 
backed  by  urgent  needs  or  desires  when  the  devil's 
recruiting-sergeant,  Opportunity,  had  offered  some 
lure  of  gain  or  passion.  It  is  a  sad  fact  that 
purity  attracts  the  impure.  The  temperate  maid- 
enliness  of  this  girl's  acts  and  talk,  her  outbreaks 
of  joy  or  pleasure  not  yet  free  from  childhood's 
intensity  of  enjoyment  of  simple  things,  he  liked, 
and  not  less  the  flowing  curves  of  her  strong  and 
well-knit  figure. 

His  failure  to  win  her  had  made  him  angry,  — 
the  sign  of  a  low  nature,  —  but  he  had  place  only 
for  the  sway  of  one  passion  at  a  time,  and  the 
anxieties  arising  out  of  the  stock  market  had  filled 
his  mind  for  a  while  as  they  could  not  have  done 
had  he  continued  to  see  her.  His  was  no  spirit- 
ualized love,  —  he  was  not  capable  of  that,  —  but 
it  was  just  now  as  true  an  affection  as  his  organ- 
ization made  possible.  It  must  be  indeed  a  poor 


318  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

sham  of  love  which  does  not  lift  a  man  above  his 
worst  level.  This  glimpse  of  heaven  gentles  us 
all. 

At  last  he  said,  "  It  is  well  I  am  not  a  woman, 
Cousin  Olive,  or  I  might  not  have  been  so  easy  to 
keep  quiet." 

"  But  I  have  been  equally  able  to  restrain  my 
tongue.  You  may  talk  now :  I  can't  sketch :  the 
boat  rocks  too  much.  I  was  thinking  we  might 
let  her  drift  out  with  the  tide :  it  may  take  us 
into  the  main  thoroughfare.  If  we  stay  here  we 
shall  be  left  aground,  and  no  one  will  ever  see  us." 

"  All  right,"  he  said,  and  pushed  the  bateau 
into  mid-stream.  He,  at  least,  was  satisfied. 

Presently,  as  he  went  on  rowing  with  the  tide, 
they  came  into  a  broader  creek,  and  at  last,  as 
Olivia  had  predicted,  into  the  main  thoroughfare. 
Then  she  saw,  to  her  dismay,  that  the  great  beach 
was  not  far  off,  and  how  utterly  they  had  lost 
themselves. 

"  Is  n't  that  an  inlet  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes,  and  the  tide  sets  towards  it.  You  must 
pull  to  the  beach :  there  is  a  house  there,  and 
some  people.  They  will  take  us  back.  I  can't 
think  how  I  could  have  been  so  foolish  ;  and  now 
grandmamma  will  be  awfully  frightened." 

"  I  doubt,  reallv,  Olive,  if  she  will  trouble  her- 
self." 

"  But  please  pull  a  little  harder.  It  is  past  four 
o'clock." 

Presently  he  urged  the  boat  well  up  on  the 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  319 

shore,  and  they  began  to  walk  to  the  house.  She 
was  worried,  annoyed,  self -reproachful ;  he  was 
the  slave  of  the  hour's  joy.  They  said  little. 
Then  while  he  waited  outside  she  went  in  at  the 
open  door,  saying  that  she  would  find  Mrs.  Hand, 
but  in  a  few  moments  came  back  and  said  there 
was  no  one  in  the  house,  and,  as  they  had  seen  no 
boat  at  the  slip,  every  one  must  be  away. 

"  The  worst  of  it  is,"  she  added,  "  they  very 
often  go  to  stay  all  night  at  the  Court-house." 

"  Then  we  are  Robinson  Crusoes,  Olive ! "  And 
he  was  selfishly  pleased  that  for  hours  he  should 
be  alone  with  her. 

Her  trouble  at  the  distress  her  absence  would 
cause  did  not  move  him  greatly.  However,  to 
quiet  her,  he  said  he  would  take  a  look  among  the 
dunes.  He  came  back  in  a  half  hour,  and  re- 
ported that  he  could  find  no  one;  that  the  peo- 
ple had  left  the  fire  covered  with  ashes,  and  that 
this  would  not  have  been  the  case  had  they  meant 
to  remain  away  all  night.  At  last  he  persuaded 
her  to  walk  a  little,  and  was  sure  that  pretty  soon 
some  one  would  come. 

But  before  long  she  became  so  evidently  dis- 
turbed and  so  unwilling  or  unable  to  talk  that  he 
said  he  would  take  the  boat  and  try  to  find  his 
way  home,  so  that  some  one  could  be  sent  to  her. 

She  replied  that  it  was  useless,  —  that  he  would 
never  find  his  way. 

Then  they  endeavored  to  call  a  boat  passing  up 
the  thoroughfare,  but  did  not  succeed  in  attract- 
ing the  attention  of  its  crew. 


820  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

By  and  by  he  said,  suddenly,  as  they  stood  in 
front  of  the  house,  — 

"  What  made  you  run  away,  Olive  ?  Was  I  so 
very  dreadful  ?  " 

"  No  ;  you  were  always  kind  to  me.  I  persuaded 
grandmamma  to  go,  and  it  was  I  who  asked  Mr. 
Pennell  not  to  say  where  we  had  gone.  It  was 
a  little  silly,  I  dare  say ;  but,  Cousin  Richard,  Oc- 
topia  had  simply  worn  me  out.  I  wanted  some 
relief.  No  doubt  I  was  selfish  ;  but  between  Oc- 
topia  and  grandmamma  I  was  —  well,  I  merely 
could  not  bear  it  any  longer.  I  suppose  even  men 
get  desperate  sometimes." 

"  Then  it  was  not,  Olive,  that  you  wanted  to  fly 
from  me.  When  we  learned  where  you  were,  I 
wrote  to  you  ;  but  you  did  not  answer." 

"  No,  I  did  not  answer.  I  had  nothing  to  say," 
she  returned,  coldly. 

"  Yet  it  was  all  of  a  man's  life  you  had  in  your 
hands." 

"  Men's  lives  are  in  their  own  hands,  Richard." 

"  By  heaven,  no  !  "  he  said.  "  I  was  a  spoilt 
boy,  —  told  every  day  how  beautiful  I  was.  I  had 
a  dozen  servants  to  do  what  I  wished.  No  one 
refused  me  any  indulgence.  I  grew  up  half  edu- 
cated, among  slaves  and  women  who  thought  my 
recklessness  a  thing  to  admire.  Had  I  been  a  cow- 
ard it  would  have  been  better.  I  spent  money,  — 
my  own  and  what  my  mother  gave  me.  Then  she 
died,  and  things  went  from  bad  to  worse." 

He  paused.     It  was  part  natural  self-defense 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  821 

and  part  an  eager  desire  to  enlist  the  sympathy 
of  the  woman  at  his  side. 

His  arrow  went  wide  of  the  mark.  She  knew 
well  what  it  all  led  up  to,  but  was  angry  that  he 
had  so  little  tact  or  good  feeling  as  to  seize  on  this 
awkward  time  to  urge  his  suit.  She  glanced  wist- 
fully over  the  deserted  thoroughfare. 

Darnell  went  on :  "  How  can  you  say  a  man's 
life  is  in  his  own  hands  ?  My  mother  was  like 
Octopia.  She  indulged  her  own  nervous  system 
and  her  children.  I  grew  up  with  a  taste  for  lux- 
ury  and  found  that  we  were  poor,  and  then  we 
lived  along,  —  God  knows  how,  —  until  the  war 
came." 

"  I  should  like  to  help  you,"  said  Olivia.  "  But 
what  can  I  do  ?  " 

The  false  note  in  all  he  said  was  ever  disturb- 
ingly present  to  her  instinctive  sense  of  moral  har- 
mony. 

"  My  God!  can't  you  see,"  he  answered,  passion- 
ately, "  that  it  is  the  cry  of  a  soul  in  hell,  Olive? 
Help  me  with  your  love.  To-day  my  life  is  in 
your  hands,  to  make  or  mar.  Love  like  mine  must 
win." 

She  was  scared  at  his  vehemence,  and  looked 
aside  at  his  flushed,  handsome  face  with  a  certain 
vague  anxiety. 

Then  he  paused  before  her :  "  Have  you  no  an- 
swer ?  you  are  cruel !  " 

"  I  am  not  cruel,"  said  Olivia.  "  I  do  not  see 
why  you  talk  to  me  in  this  strange  way.  You 
know  that  I  can  have  but  one  answer." 


322  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"  And  that  ?  "  he  inquired,  sternly ;  "  and  that  ? 
What  is  it  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  love  you." 

"  Then  good-by,  love,"  he  said,  hoarsely,  and 
caught  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  passion- 
ately. 

"  My  God ! "  she  exclaimed,  struggling,  and 
pushing  him  off  with  her  strong  young  arms. 

"  Forgive  me,"  said  he.     "  Forgive  me,  Olive." 

"  Then  let  me  go,"  she  cried. 

"  And  you  do  forgive  me  ?  "  he  said,  releasing 
her. 

"  I  will  try,"  she  said,  faintly,  feeling  that  her 
strength  was  leaving  her. 

"And  there  is  no  one  else,  Olive?  I  —  I 
thought  once  you  might  care  for  me." 

"I  will  not  be  questioned,"  she  returned, 
proudly.  "  You  are  cruel  and  unmanly." 

"  Then  there  is  some  one,  and  I  have  lost  you  ! 

It  did  seem  to  me  once  that  you  might  come  to 

love  me.     No  man  shall  come  between  us.     No 

v    man  shall  dare  to  take  you  from  me.    I  would  kill 

him.     As  I  live  I  would  kill  him." 

The  girl  recoiled ;  there  was  awful  earnestness 
in  the  threat. 

"  Fool ! "  she  said,  "  are  you  mad  ?  He  saved 
your  life." 

"  What,  Olive  !  not  Major  Blake  ?  Curse  him, 
he  is  safe  from  me !  Please  don't  cry.  You  have 
saved  a  man's  life.  Upon  my  honor  I  am  speak- 
ing the  truth." 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  323 

The  girl  was  sobbing  bitterly,  a  tempest  of  fear 
and  shame  and  loathing  and  surprised  love  in  her 
breast.  "  Go !  go  !  "  she  said ;  "  you  have  done 
your  worst,"  and  motioned  him  away  with  out- 
stretched palm. 

Then,  as  he  moved  from  her  side,  she  called  to 
him.  He  paused. 

"  You  won't  say  what  I  have  told  you  ?  " 

He  understood  her  in  some  measure.  "You 
shall  be  obeyed.  I  am  not  an  utter  brute.  Can 
I  do  anything  else,  Olive  ?  "  He  spoke  now  with 
his  usual  gentleness. 

"  If  —  if  you  would  go  up  to  the  house-top  and 
look  and  see  if  any  one  is  in  sight." 

"  Certainly,"  he  said,  and,  walking  away,  dis- 
appeared in  the  house. 

She  waited  a  moment,  looked  about  her,  and 
then,  gathering  her  skirts,  ran  like  a  deer  to  the 
boat,  and  with  difficulty  shoved  it  into  the  water. 
Then  she  got  in,  and  with  an  oar  pushed  it  out 
resolutely  into  the  sunset-lighted  thoroughfare, 
and  awkwardly  rowed  away. 

A  few  moments  later  she  saw  Darnell  on  the 
shore.  A  sense  of  freedom  gave  her  courage, 
and  something  had  forbidden  her  to  remain  alone 
with  him  on  the  dusking  beach. 

"  Olive !  Olive  !  "  he  cried.  "  You  will  be  lost ! 
Keep  off  from  the  inlet,  —  to  the  left,  to  the 
left !  " 

She  did  not  reply,  but  pulled  sturdily  out  on  to 
the  thoroughfare,  with  fierce  scorn  of  his  advice 


324  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

and  a  sense  of  deliverance  in  her  praying  soul. 
She  had  the  sense  to  direct  her  course  towards 
the  setting  sun,  but  found  it  hard  to  pull  against 
the  strong  flow  of  the  ebb  tide. 

By  degrees  the  figure  of  the  man  grew  indis- 
tinct, the  dusk  grew  in  about  her,  and,  quite  ex- 
hausted, she  ceased  to  row,  until  the  low  head- 
lands, dimly  visible,  began  to  seem  to  go  by  her 
westward,  as  the  strong  flow  of  the  water  swept 
her  boat  towards  the  inlet.  Then  she  grew  un- 
easy, and  rowed  hard  again,  so  that  her  palms  be- 
came blistered  from  this  unaccustomed  labor. 

And  now  the  sun  went  down,  and  the  brief 
September  twilight  faded  into  night,  and  she  was 
cold,  having  let  fall  her  cloak  in  her  flight.  At 
intervals  she  tugged  at  the  oars,  trying  to  see 
the  village  lights.  At  last  she  gave  up  and  sat 
still,  utterly  worn  out. 

A  half  hour  went  by.  The  terror  of  the  black 
water  below  and  the  star-lit  dome  above  began  to 
possess  her  soul  with  an  awful  sense  of  isolation. 
Would  she  drift  out  to  death  in  the  wild  wash  of 
the  inlet  breakers  ?  They  seemed  to  be  nearer. 
And  life  was  rich  to  her  just  now.  And  Roland 
Blake,  —  why  did  he  not  come  ?  Would  not  love 
guide  him  like  the  birds  ?  Ah,  if  it  would  but  be 
he  who  should  find  her ! 

She  tried  again  to  row,  hearing  too  well  the 
roar  of  the  lion-like  rollers  as  they  ravened  at 
the  inlet  mouth.  Again  she  gave  up.  It  was  use- 
less to  struggle. 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  325 

She  recalled  how  sometimes  when  she  had  been 
•worried  at  home  she  used  to  find  that  to  sit  at  the 
piano  and  sing  steadied  her.  She  broke  out  in 
the  hymn,  "  Abide  with  me  ;  fast  falls  the  even- 
tide," her  voice  at  first  trembling,  but  soon  clear 
and  resolute.  She  thought,  smiling,  as  she  heard 
/  the  wild  breakers  ramping  on  the  bar  perilously 
closer  and  closer,  that  she  was  like  the  Christian 
maids  who  sang  hymns  in  the  cruel  arena. 

The  unguided  boat  was  rocking  dangerously. 
She  paused.  The  night  was  black  all  around  her. 
Of  a  sudden  came  hope  ;  far  away  she  saw  a  flash, 
and  then  heard  the  report  of  a  pistol.  She  called 
aloud,  and,  seizing  the  oars,  pulled  hard  towards 
the  flash  she  had  seen.  A  second  shot  helped  her. 
In  some  ten  minutes  she  was  safe.  Uncle  John 
and  Blake  were  beside  her,  and  she  was  carefully 
helped  into  their  boat,  to  which  they  tied  her  own 
little  craft. 

They  said  little  until  she  was  securely  seated. 
Then  Uncle  John  spoke :  "  Well,  you  are  a  sure 
'nough  mariner  now,  Miss  'Livia.  And  how  did 
it  come  ?  " 

"  I  went  out  with  my  cousin,  and  we  got  lost." 

"  An'  where  on  airth  is  that  man  ?  " 

*'  We  got  down  to  the  beach,  and  I  happened 
to  get  into  the  boat  while  he  was  at  the  house." 

"  Drifted  off,  like.  Wa'al,  he  might  be  in  a  wus 
place.  Guess  he  '11  bide.  You  might  be  coolish, 
miss  ?  " 

*'  Yes ;  I  am  cold.     It  does  n't  matter." 


326  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

Blake  took  off  his  coat.  "  Put  this  over  you," 
he  said,  and  went  on  pulling. 

"  No,"  she  replied  ;  "  I  cannot." 

"  Do  as  you  are  told,"  he  said,  curtly. 

She  put  it  about  her,  liking  well  to  be  com- 
manded. It  was  an  old  army  undress  coat.  As 
she  fastened  it  about  her,  one  of  the  well-used 
buttons  came  off  in  her  hand.  She  laughed,  and 
put  it  in  her  bosom. 

"  What 's  amusin'  you,  miss  ?  "  said  Uncle  John. 

"  Nothing.     I  am  only  happy." 

"  Well,  you  've  had  a  nigh  thing  of  it.  Them 
rollers  is  rather  rampagin'." 

Then  they  pulled  with  no  more  words  said. 

At  the  landing  Blake  walked  away  with  her. 

"  Take  my  arm,"  he  said.  "  The  bank  is  full  of 
holes."  She  obeyed  him  silently.  "  Miss  Wynne," 
he  added,  gravely,  "something  has  happened. 
What  is  it  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you.  You  asked  me  to  trust  you 
yesterday.  Now  it  is  my  turn.  You  will  oblige 
me  if  you  do  not  ask.  It  is  not  serious.  Will  you 
be  so  kind  as  to  meet  Mr.  Darnell  just  as  usual  ? 
He  is  greatly  to  be  pitied." 

"  And  you  are  sure  that  you  are  acting  wisely  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  very  sure." 

"  Then  that  is  enough.  I  will  see  that  you  are 
not  questioned." 

"  You  are  very  good  to  me." 

"  That  is  as  if  you  should  say  I  am  good  to  my- 
self." 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  327 

She  asked  abruptly  if  her  grandmother  had 
been  troubled,  and  was  surprised  that  the  old 
lady  had  not  been  more  disturbed. 

Blake  could  not  help  telling  his  companion  of 
Pennell's  extreme  distress  when  after  dinner  Miss 
Wynne  had  been  found  missing  and  the  boat  gone 
from  the  slip.  "  I  think  he  has  half  the  town 
in  his  pay.  About  four  o'clock  he  began  to  un- 
derstand that  Mr.  Darnell  must  be  with  you. 
That  seemed  to  quiet  Mrs.  Wynne,  but  it  made 
Mr.  Pennell  twice  as  restless ;  I  could  see  that. 
I  am  afraid  Mr.  Pennell  does  not  fancy  Mr.  Dar- 
nell, or  else  he  had  some  anxiety  about  him.  I 
could  see  that  there  was  something." 

Olivia  smiled  as  they  moved  cautiously  along 
the  bank  in  the  darkness.  "  Perhaps  I  can  ex- 
plain. Addenda  Pennell  has  for  years  had  a  great 
admiration  for  my  cousin,  Miss  Darnell.  It  was 
rather  amusing.  Really  she  made  him  fetch  and 
carry  like  a  well-trained  poodle.  I  used  to  think 
it  was  a  shame." 

"  I  see,"  said  Blake,  thoughtfully. 

After  a  pause  he  turned  the  current  of  their 
talk.  "  We  heard  you  singing.  What  was  it  you 
sang?" 

She  told  him. 

"  And  what  made  you  think  of  singing  ?  " 

"  One's  own  voice  seems  like  another  person. 
It  made  me  feel  less  alone.  It  kept  me  from 
thinking.  One  gets  such  strange  thoughts." 

"  Yes ;  at  times  I  have  felt  so  out  on  the  picket' 


328  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

line.  There  death  seemed  always  near  in  the 
stillness  and  the  night :  you  can  understand  that. 
And  here  is  the  house.  This  way,  Miss  Wynne." 

He  led  her  round  by  the  garden  to  the  back 
gate,  took  his  coat,  and  saying  simply,  "  Good- 
night," left  her. 

In  front  of  the  inn  he  found  Pennell  and 
Francis,  to  whom  he  explained  the  adventure  with 
such  audacity  of  comment  as  did  credit  to  his 
powers  as  a  master  of  fiction,  so  that  they  both 
agreed  with  him  that  Darnell  must  have  been 
very  careless  about  the  boat,  and  that,  on  the 
whole,  the  less  said  about  the  matter  the  better. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

"  Time  is  a  cruel  creditor :  he  saith,  What  didst  thou  with  this  minute  and 
with  that?  " 

RICHARD  DARNELL  returned  early  in  the 
morning,  having  been  brought  over  by  a  fisher- 
man, who  told  him  of  Miss  Wynne's  safety.  He 
dressed,  breakfasted  before  any  one  came  down, 
and  walked  sullenly  away  up  the  main  road,  with 
no  company  but  a  cigar  and  his  own  reflections. 
They  were  not  consoling. 

His  anxiety  about  Olivia  had  been  horrible  as 
he  saw  her  float  out  into  the  dusk.  He  passed  a 
night  of  torture.  When  he  learned  that  she  had 
been  comfortably  in  bed  he  began  to  regain  his 
sullen  wrath  at  her  refusal  of  his  love.  Minor 
motives,  too,  pricked  him  like  nettles :  they  are 
like  mischievous  boys  in  a  mob,  and  make  half 
the  trouble.  His  self-esteem  was  hurt,  his  money 
almost  exhausted  ;  indeed,  he  had  borrowed  from 
Pennell  a  small  sum,  readily  lent.  No  one  had 
cared  even  to  send  over  to  the  beach  for  him.  In 
his  bitter  mood  Francis's  gayety  annoyed  him. 
And  it  was  clear,  too,  that  the  man  who  had  taken 
his  place  in  Olive's  heart  haughtily  avoided  him, 

Lnd  yet  had  saved  his  life.     Better  had  he  been 
eft  to  die.     Was  it  not  a  clear  settlement?  —  a 


; 


330  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

heart  for  a  life  ?  The  logic  of  despair  was  in  his 
mind.  He  owed  this  man  nothing. 

It  was  raining  heavily.  He  did  not  notice  it, 
but  threw  away  his  cigar  and  strode  along,  champ- 
ing at  the  black  moustache  which  hid  his  lip-lines. 
Having  never  been  taught  self-control  or  mental 
discipline,  his  consciousness  was  now  like  a  mad- 
house in  which  the  mutinous  insane  range  un- 
checked without  a  keeper.  At  such  moments  crime 
is  in  the  air,  murder  at  the  elbow.  He  took  out 
of  his  pocket  a  photograph  of  Olivia  and  stared  at 
it.  The  cool  maidenly  purity,  the  white  dress 
and  innocent  face,  but  fed  his  rage.  He  kissed  it, 
and,  tearing  it  to  pieces,  threw  it  into  the  thicket 
at  his  side  with  a  muttered  oath. 

As  he  turned,  looking  up  he  saw  Roland  Blake 
coming  quietly  along  the  road.  The  young  man 
had  passed  a  night  of  unrest,  thinking  over  what 
Olivia  had  told  him.  The  very  guarded  nature  of 
what  she  had  told  him  made  him  anxious,  and  at 
last  he  had  said  to  himself  that  he  would  do  some- 
thing which  should  drive  this  man  away.  He  had 
waited  too  long  as  it  was,  and  would  wait  no 
longer. 

Learning  that  Darnell  had  gone  up  the  road, 
he  followed  him,  naturally  enough  reflecting  as  to 
what  he  should  say.  He  had  promised  Olivia  to 
think  as  kindly  as  possible  of  this  man,  for  whom 
she  had  expressed  pity.  He  would  do  his  best. 
He  overtook  the  Confederate  in  the  pine  woods. 

"  Good-morning,"  he  said. 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  331 

"  Good- morning." 

"  I  have  followed  you  to-day  that  I  might  talk 
with  you.  I  have  something  to  say  to  you  which 
I  have  put  off  for  various  reasons.  It  is  not  a 
pleasant  thing  to  do,  but  it  has  to  be  done." 

"  I  am  not  in  a  mood  for  talk.  I  advise  you  to 
postpone  it." 

"That  I  cannot  do.  You  will  have  to  hear 
me." 

"  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  allowing  men  to  die- 
tate  to  me,  Mr.  Blake."  He  was  sobering  fast 
under  a  sense  of  the  approach  of  some  crisis,  and 
had  relief  in  the  possibility  of  action. 

"  I  am  not  much  afraid  of  consequences,"  said 
Blake,  "  nor  do  I  want  to  say  what  may  be  dis- 
agreeable." 

"  Oh,  very  well.  Go  on.  What  is  it?  Let  us 
sit  down,  if  you  please.  I  am  tired."  He  was 
now  serenely  tranquil. 

They  sat  on  a  fallen  tree,  while  Darnell  calmly 
lit  a  cigar,  the  rain  still  falling  drearily. 

"Let  me  ask  you,"  said  Blake,  "to  hear  me 
patiently.  What  I  have  to  ask  of  you  I  want  to 
ask  as  a  favor  to  a  man  who  has  done  you,  whether 
willingly  or  not,  the  small  kindness  of  saving 
your  life." 

"  Well,"  said  Darnell,  in  profound  amazement, 
"  there  are  few  things  a  man  ought  not  to  be  will- 
ing to  promise  a  gentleman  who  reminds  him  of 
such  indebtedness.  Pray  go  on." 

"  I  shall  consider  your  debt  canceled,  if  you 


332  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

will  go  away  from  this  place  and  cease  to  make 
any  further  effort  to  see  your  cousins.  If  I  seem 
to  you  absurd  or  exacting,  or,  if  you  like,  insane, 
be  so  good  as  to  remember  that  I  have  reasons 
which  I  do  not  wish  to  state,  —  reasons  which  in- 
volve your  own  safety.  Do  not  force  me  to  state 
them.  I  have,  I  assure  you  on  my  honor,  a  real 
desire  to  deal  with  you  kindly ;  and  yet "  — 

Darnell  laughed  outright.  "Well,  of  all  the 
cool  things  I  ever  heard  of,  this  is  the  coolest. 
You  are  not  quite  insane,  I  presume?  And  I  am 
to  go  away  to  oblige  you,  who  are  in  love  with  my 
cousin  !  It  is  n't  a  joke,  is  it  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  question  of  Miss  Wynne  at  pres- 
ent. We  will  leave  her  out  of  the  case,  if  you 
please.  I  have  chosen,  quixotically  perhaps,  to 
put  it  as  a  favor  to  me.  You  can  have  no  strong 
reason  for  remaining ;  and  if  you  say  yes  I  shall 
be  saved  —  and  you  will  escape  —  what  I  earnestly 
desire  to  avoid." 

Darnell  turned  sharply.  "  First  I  wish  to  say 
to  you,  Mr.  Blake,  that  no  possible  obligation  can 
justify  your  words.  If  I  have  permitted  them  at 
all,  it  is  because  I  do  owe  you  my  life.  As  to 
your  proposal,  it  is  simply  nonsense ;  and  as  for 
your  rather  enigmatical  threats,  I  must  now  ask 
you  to  explain  them.  This  matter  has  gone  far 
enough.  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  He  rose  as  he 
ended,  and  stood  facing  the  younger  man. 

"  I  made  a  promise,  Mr.  Darnell,  that  I  would 
treat  you  kindly  in  this  matter.  I  have  kept  my 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  333 

word.  I  have  no  hostility  to  you,  and,  for  many 
reasons,  I  pity  you." 

It  was  true.  He  did  pity  him,  —  more,  indeed, 
than  Darnell  could  have  dreamed. 

"  By  heavens,  sir,  you  must  consider  me  a  pa- 
tient man." 

"  And  you  will  not  go  ?  " 

"  I ?  no !  " 

Despite  his  unusual  capacity  for  self-control, 
Blake  lost  his  temper.  "  Then  you  must.  If  you 
will  have  it,  take  it.  I  am  the  officer  who  met 
you  on  that  night  in  May,  when  you  gave  me  cer- 
tain information  and  were  paid  by  me  for  it  on  the 
spot.  Your  bullet  wounded  me,  and  I  escaped. 
You  are  a  double  traitor,  —  to  your  cause  and  to 
the  man  who  by  after-chance  saved  your  worthless 
life.  Do  you  suppose  that  I  am  going  to  allow 
you  to  live  in  the  same  house  with  two  helpless 
women  ?  There  you  have  my  story.  What  do 
you  propose  to  do  ?  "  He  rose  as  he  finished. 

As  Blake  spoke,  Darnell  recoiled,  his  face  a 
livid  mask,  his  jaw  dropped.  He  was  ruined. 
The  one  thing  he  yet  valued  —  the  opinion  of  men 
of  his  own  caste  —  was  lost.  He  said  no  words, 
but  his  hand  crept  tremulously  towards  his  breast- 
pocket. 

Blake  was  on  him  in  a  second,  and  caught  his 
groping  arm  at  the  wrist.  Darnell  struck  him 
wildly  with  his  free  hand  as  the  young  man,  clos- 
ing, tripped  him  with  his  right  leg,  and  they  fell 
heavily  to  the  ground.  For  a  moment  the  strife 


334  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

was  doubtful ;  but  Blake  held  fast  the  dangerous 
right  hand,  and  fastening  with  a  clutch  of  despair 
on  Darnell's  throat,  disregarded  the  blows  of  his 
unfettered  arm.  The  face  beneath  him  he  never 
forgot  in  after  days.  The  strong  knee  on  the  chest 
and  the  fierce  grip  at  the  throat  did  their  work 
swiftly.  The  man's  arm  relaxed,  a  convulsive 
movement  went  over  his  features,  and  Blake  rose 
tottering  to  his  feet.  Francis  was  at  his  side. 

"  By  George,  Phil,"  exclaimed  his  friend, 
breathing  hard,  "  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  I  am 
afraid  I  have  killed  this  scoundrel." 

Francis  knelt  down  beside  the  prostrate  man. 
"  No,"  he  said,  looking  up ;  "  he  is  breathing. 
The  color  is  coming  back  into  his  face.  He  is  only 
a  scotched  snake.  Are  you  hurt  ?  Your  face 
is  n't  pretty ;  but  it  is  n't  very  bad.  What  on 
earth  shall  we  do,  Blake  ?  " 

"  Wait  a  little.  If  he  comes  to,  as  he  seems  to 
be  doing,  I  must  talk  to  him.  By  the  way,  just 
put  your  hand  in  his  breast-pocket ;  I  think  you 
will  find  a  revolver." 

Darnell  was  moving  uneasily,  and  opened  his 
eyes  as  Francis  sought  for  the  weapon.  "  There 
is  none,  Roland,"  said  Francis,  looking  up. 

"  Indeed  ?  I  might  have  escaped  this  row,  but 
he  put  his  hand  in  his  breast,  and  I  did  not  wait. 
I  suppose  the  act  was  mere  habit  on  his  part. 
But  how  did  you  come  here,  Phil  ?  " 

"  I  followed  you  through  the  wood.  I  hardly 
know  why,  but  I  feared  something  after  our  late 
talk." 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  335 

Darnell  was  now  seated,  a  wretched  figure 
smirched  with  mud,  his  face  still  livid  and  blotched. 
They  stood  quietly  watching  him.  He  stared 
about  him,  bewildered. 

At  length  Blake  spoke.     "  Are  you  better  ?  " 

Darnell  swept  a  hand  over  his  face.  "  Yes,  I  'm 
better."  Then  rapidly  reviving,  he  rose  with 
Blake's  help  and  stood  uncertain  and  pallid,  look- 
ing curiously  from  one  to  the  other. 

Blake  turned  to  Francis.  "  Just  drop  out  of 
earshot  a  moment,  old  fellow  ;  I  must  talk  to  this 
man." 

Francis  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Exit,"  he 
said,  "  at  left  side  of  stage,"  and  walked  into  the 
wood. 

"  Can  you  understand  me,  Mr.  Darnell?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  remember  now.  I  wish  I  had  killed 
you." 

"  Well,  you  have  not.  Can  you  recall  what  I 
said  to  you  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  will  you  leave  this  place  if  I  promise  to 
tell  no  one  of  what  I  know?  You  are  safe  with 
me,  if  you  simply  go  away  and  see  your  cousins  no 
more." 

"  And  if  I  do  not,  what  then  ?  " 

Blake's  face  set  hard. 

"As  there  is  a  God  above  me,  I  will  tell  Olivia 
Wynne." 

"  I  will  go." 

"When?" 


336  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"  To-morrow." 

"  Remember,  I  shall  keep  my  word,  and  ruth- 
lessly. If  I  have  to  tell  the  whole  world,  I  shall 
do  it." 

"  You  have  said  enough." 

As  Darnell  spoke  he  moved  towards  the  Court- 
house, at  first  slowly,  but  soon  with  a  more  as- 
sured step.  Blake  watched  him  a  moment,  and 
then  calling  Francis,  they  turned  into  the  wood 
and  walked  around  homewards  by  the  meadows. 

"  You  had  a  near  thing  of  it,  Roland." 

"Yes.  Don't  talk  to  me.  I  am  played  out, 
body  and  mind." 

"  All  right.  I  am  not  in  that  gentleman's  se- 
crets, but  I  suppose,  from  my  brief  acquaintance 
with  him,  that  he  is  what  people  describe  as  his 
own  worst  foe." 

"He  is  to  be  pitied,  Phil." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know.  He  is  probably  engaged 
just  now  in  the  easy  Christian  task  of  forgiving 
his  enemy." 

"  How  can  you  jest  about  it  ?  " 

"  And  pray  what  else  can  one  do  ?  " 

"  Do  nothing,  say  nothing." 

"  My  dear  Roland,  your  charity  is  all  very  fine 
in  theory,  and  yet  you  half  killed  him.  But 
frankly,  Roland,  is  there  any  practical  result  ?  I 
hate  rows  between  gentlemen,  but  most  of  all 
those  which  end  by  leaving  things  as  they  were." 

"  This  has  not  left  things  as  they  were.  I  have 
done  what  I  wanted  to  do,  but  I  ought  to  have 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  337 

kept  my  temper.  If  I  had  been  a  trifle  less  quick 
there  would  have  been  no  row." 

"  Well !  it 's  done  now.  Will  there  be  anything 
further?" 

"  Hardly,  if  you  mean  anything  like  a  duel. 
That,  in  this  case,  is  simply  impossible." 

"  One  word  more,  Roland.  I  suppose  you  may 
be  said  to  have  had  a  fall." 

"  Yes.     It  is  true." 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

"  Will  the  springtime  let  thee  guess 
All  of  summer's  loveliness  ? 
Canst  thou  from  the  rosebud  know 
Half  how  sweet  the  rose  will  grow  ?  " 

ADDENDA  PEXXELL  was  troubled  about  Dar- 
nell. He  had  seen  him  depleting  his  sister's  small 
capital,  and  lately  he  had  himself  lent  him  money. 
At  one  time  he  meant  to  offer  him  a  place  in  his 
office ;  but  he  had  seen  how  incapable  he  was 
of  accuracy,  and  simply  feared  to  put  money- 
temptation  in  the  way  of  a  man  who  could  coldly 
beggar  a  sister.  He  had  aided  many  men  in 
trouble,  but  this  man  puzzled  his  capacity.  Yet 
for  Octopia's  sake  he  would  do  much. 

He  watched  Darnell  enter  the  inn,  and,  seeing 
his  disordered  dress  and  blotched  face,  concluded 
with  surprise  and  regret  that  he  had  been  drink- 
ing. He  had  not  liked  the  adventure  with  Olivia, 
who  had  not  been  down  at  breakfast,  but  who 
was  said,  as  he  learned  on  inquiry,  to  be  well, 
but  tired. 

When  Blake  passed  him  and  laughingly  ex- 
plained that  he  had  had  a  fall,  Pennell  began  to 
be  suspicious.  He  thought  it  over  a  little,  won- 
dered if  his  house-maid  had  kept  his  clocks  wound 
up,  and  slowly  wandered  down  the  sandy  road. 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  339 

He  had  half  a  mind  to  telegraph  Miss  Darnell 
to  come ;  Mrs.  Wynne  would  not  regret  it,  and 
Olivia  seemed  to  him  to  have  grown  more  amiable 
as  regarded  her  cousin. 

At  the  post-office  he  found  a  letter  from  Octo- 
pia,  in  which  she  said  that  she  was  anxious  as  to 
many  things,  and  had  resolved  to  go  to  the  Court- 
house, and  would  he  see  about  rooms  and  have  a 
fire  and  give  orders  as  to  the  bed  ?  And  perhaps 
till  she  came  there  was  no  need  to  tell  her  cousins. 
This  he  liked  least ;  but  he  nevertheless  obeyed 
her  as  usual. 

In  the  afternoon  Blake  sent  up  a  note  to  Miss 
Wynne  to  ask  if  she  would  walk  with  him  before 
the  supper-hour. 

He  found  her,  near  the  sunset  time,  in  the  small 
parlor,  and  together  they  turned  off  toward  the 
sea,  across  the  meadows.  In  the  lowering  light  the 
great  levels  were  beautiful  with  hazy  breadths  of 
modest  colors  hard  to  name.  Fading  sedge  and 
autumnal  ferns,  rigid  salt  grasses  and  the  broad- 
ening rings  of  salt-wort,  with  light  of  sun-touched 
pools,  set  about  with  cat-tail  and  reeds,  lent  each 
their  hues  to  make  one  vast  mottled  mistiness  of 
browns  and  reds  and  intense  lake  and  yellows,  of 
which  only  autumn  knows  the  trick,  — a  confusion 
of  blended  tints  like  the  strange  splendor  of  a 
vast  palette  on  which  the  great  artist  about  to  die 
had  left  the  lavish  wealth  of  unused  colors. 

"  I  tried  to  paint  it  last  week,"  she  said,  "  and 
became  bankrupt  of  paints  ;  I  mixed  them  to  no 


340  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

purpose.  These  tints  are  like  phantoms ;  they 
change  and  come  and  go,  and  a  breath  of  wind  on 
the  grass  and  ferns  is  like  the  shaking  of  a  kaleido- 
scope. I  gave  lip  in  despair.  Even  if  one  could 
paint  this  maze  of  color,  the  sentiment  would  es- 
cape ;  and  that  is  the  thing  one  really  craves." 

"  And  just  what  is  the  sentiment  of  our  early 
autumn?"  he  said.  "It  is  not  sadness,  —  or  not 
for  me,  at  least.  It  is  a  reflective  time.  One 
gets  nearer  to  one's  self." 

Miss  Wynne  smiled.  She  was  getting  accus- 
tomed to  his  occasional  outbreaks  of  slightly  hazy 
speculative  speech.  He  had  a  liking  to  set  her  lit- 
tle puzzles,  and  delighted  in  her  intelligent  dealing 
with  them,  or  her  easy  way  of  disregarding  them. 

"  Oh,  I  am  always  near  enough  to  myself,"  she 
returned.  "  The  thing  is  to  get  nearer  to  other 
people."  Blake  mentally  agreed  with  her,  and 
she  continued,  hastily,  "  Now,  I  have  lived  years 
with  grandmamma  and  Octopia,  and  I  am  no 
nearer  to  understanding  them  than  at  first." 

"I  am  sure  you  know  them  better  than  you 
think  you  do.  Your  real  trouble  is  in  stating 
your  comprehension  in  words." 

"  That  may  be  it." 

"  Words  are  so  stupid.  The  great  word-artists 
must  gnash  their  teeth  over  them.  Some  day 
there  will  be  a  man  who  will  be  able  to  express 
what  he  wants  to  say  equally  well  with  brush  and 
words.  Think,  now,  —  if  Shakespeare  could  have 
also  painted  Viola  and  the  Jew  ! " 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  341 

"  But  I  can  always  see  his  people.  Listen  to 
the  wind  in  the  pines." 

"  It  is  like  a  drowsy  waterfall,"  he  said.  "  And 
how  plainly  you  can  hear  the  surf ! "  Olivia 
shuddered  at  the  memory  of  it. 

Then  they  came  to  the  landing-slip. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  said,  "  you  would  rather  not  go 
out  in  a  boat  this  evening." 

"  I  should  very  much  rather  not.  I  dreamed  of 
boats  and  breakers  all  night  long." 

"  Then  we  wiU  walk." 

"  No ;  I  am  so  much  afraid  that  I  mean  to  go, 
if  you  will  kindly  take  me  a  little  way.  I  have 
no  patience  with  nervousness." 

Liking  well  the  show  of  character,  he  returned, 
"Well,  we  will  use  the  big  bateau,  and  not  go 
far." 

Then  they  pushed  out  and  he  pulled  to  the 
north,  and  came  forth  on  the  great  wide  thorough- 
fare as  the  sun  had  nearly  fallen  and  a  fan  of  opal 
rays  grew  broadening  up  the  western  sky. 

She  turned  and  looked  at  him.  "  You  have 
hurt  your  face,  I  see." 

"  Yes.     I  had  a  fall." 

"You  have  had  a  trouble  with  Richard,"  she 
cried,  instantly. 

How  did  she  know  it  ?  How  do  women  know 
anything  ?  She  could  not  have  told  you. 

"  Well,  I  'm  like  G.  Washington,"  he  said, 
laughing.  "  It  is  true.  Of  course  I  did  not 
mean  to  tell  you.  What  I  do  want  to  say  is  that 


842  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

Mr.  Darnell  will  leave  to-morrow,  and  that  —  and 
this  is  my  point  —  if  you  are,  as  I  am  sure  you 
are,  a  wise  woman,  you  will  avoid  him  for  the 
next  twenty-four  hours.  He  is  not  a  nice  man, 
and  I  think  him  even  a  dangerous  one." 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  she  said,  wondering. 

Then  they  drifted  out  on  to  the  wider  space  of 
the  wind-fretted  water  aglow  with  shimmering 
lights.  He  threw  a  coat  in  the  bottom  of  the 
boat,  and  sat  down,  the  woman  on  the  seat  above 
him. 

"  I  have  been  unspeakably  happy,  Miss  Wynne, 
these  three  or  four  weeks.  The  war  is  over,  and 
this  is  the  pleasant  turn  for  me  towards  a  new 
life  of  hopeful  work." 

"  It  cannot  have  been  more  tranquilly  peaceful 
for  any  one  than  for  me,"  she  returned.  "  You 
may  suppose  me  to  have  had  a  life  of  just  a  girl's 
commonplace  days ;  but  it  is  not  so.  Never  in 
years  until  this  month  have  I  known  what  it  was 
/  to  control  my  own  hours  and  tasks.  I  have  lived 
with  two  sick  women." 

"  It  must  have  been  hard :  I  can  see  that." 

She  now  knew  this  man  so  trustfully  well  that 
she  talked  to  him  with  a  frank  innocence  which 
at  times  gave  her  little  shocks  of  surprise.  She 
was  on  the  point  of  telling  him  of  the  mysterious 
secret  which  had  been  to  her  so  grave  a  trouble. 

"  Besides  "  —  she  said,  and  paused. 

"Besides  — what?" 

"  Oh,  nothing.  I  was  only  thinking  of  an  an- 
noyance in  my  life  at  home." 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  343 

"  Let  it  annoy  me  too." 

"  No.     Why  should  I  burden  any  one  else  ?  " 

"  Burden  me  !  "  he  said.  "  What  burden  is 
there  you  could  lay  on  me  that  I  would  not  gladly 
carry  ?  "  She  looked  past  him  over  the  dusking 
water,  and  he  went  on,  still  gazing  steadily  up  at 
the  pensive  sweetness  of  her  lifted  face :  "•  Don't 
you  know  that  I  love  you,  Olivia  ?  "  And  the 
soft  vowels  slid  lingering  over  his  lips. 

The  girl  covered  her  face  with  both  hands,  and 
murmured  a  brief  prayer  in  the  seclusion  of  the 
little  chapel  her  white  fingers  made. 

"  Shall  it  be  so,  Olive  ?  Shall  we  go  through 
life,  by  God's  grace,  hand  in  hand,  helpful  of  each 
other,  till  our  days  are  done  ?  " 

"  Yes."  And,  bending  over  as  she  spoke,  she 
frankly  put  her  hand  in  his. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  very  earnestly.  "  How 
can  I  ever  thank  you?  How  sweet  you  are, 
Olive  !  God's  gold  is  in  your  hair."  It  was  shot 
through  with  sunset  spikes  of  yellow  light. 

Life  was  too  full  for  her  to  trust  her  lips  with 
speech.  At  last  she  said,  timidly,  "  Don't  you 
think  we  should  go  home  —  Roland  ?  " 

Then  he  took  the  oars,  and,  pulling  slowly, 
reached  the  bank,  while  the  night-hawks  wheeled 
swooping  over  them  under  the  deepening  blue  of 
the  star-lit  dome. 

They  landed  and  walked  hand  in  hand  across 
the  well-known  meadow  as  little  children,  because 
they  had  entered  the  kingdom  of  heaven  which  is 


344  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

J  love ;  but  when  they  were  yet  some  distance  from 
the  inn,  in  the  darkness,  and  heard  voices  on  the 
porch,  she  felt  of  a  sudden  the  hot  blood  in  her 
cheeks,  and  pausing,  said,  "  Good-by." 

Then,  facing  her,  he  took  her  hands  and  kissed 
her. 

"  Oh,  Roland !  "  she  cried,  and  stood  still  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  was  away  through  the  darkness 
like  a  deer,  and  was  glad  of  its  covert.  He  stayed 
where  she  had  left  him,  and  watched  the  white 
flutter  of  her  gown  until  it  disappeared. 

At  the  side-gate  of  the  garden  she  lingered  with 
her  hand  on  the  latch.  "  I  love  him,"  she  mur- 
mured. "  Thank  God  for  this  day !  " 

If  there  be  no  touch  of  religion  for  a  young  girl 
in  the  first  kiss  of  the  man  she  worthily  loves,  life 
must  have  been  for  her  a  meaner  thing  than  one 
could  wish. 

Blake  moved  slowly  up  to  the  porch,  where 
were  Pennell  and  Francis  chatting,  and,  farther 
away,  under  the  willows,  Darnell  pacing  sullenly 
to  and  fro. 

Now  here  was  Blake  with  the  wine  of  life's 

,    utmost  joy  in  his  veins,  and  here  were  Francis,  — 

•J     light  comedy,  —  his  chair  atilt,  and  Pennell,  his 

life  a  hidden  melodrama,  and  under  the  willows 

Darnell  as  imminent  tragedy. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

"  A  life  of  nothings,— nothing  worth, 
From  that  first  nothing  ere  our  birth 
To  that  last  nothing  under  earth. 

Suffice  it  thee 
Thy  pain  is  a  reality." 

THE  surgeon's  idea  of  "shock"  as  a  result  of 
sudden  physical  injury  should  be  imported  into 
the  domain  of  criminal  psychology.  The  ball 
which  crushes  a  joint  stops  or  weakens  the  distant 
heart,  or  palsies  a  remote  lirnb,  or  enfeebles  the 
whole  frame.  In  the  sphere  of  mind  and  morale 
the  abrupt  shock  of  fear  or  shame  may  in  like 
manner  affect  distant  nerve-cells  and  thus  deaden 
memory,  palsy  the  organs  of  reason,  annihilate 
for  a  while  the  power  to  love  or  hate,  and  even 
reduce  a  man  for  a  time  to  the  verge  of  inert 
idiocy. 

Under  such  a  blow,  emphasized  in  its  force  by 
bodily  hurt,  Darnell  found  himself  all  day  incapa- 
ble of  thought,  stupid  and  indifferent.  Now  and 
then  his  head  cleared,  and  he  wondered  at  his 
want  of  anger  or  his  total  lack  of  motive. 

When  he  rose  next  morning,  he  was  more 
nearly  himself  again.  He  was  conscious  that  he 
was  not  quite  well  either  in  body  or  in  mind ;  but 
a  brisk  walk  and  a  little  brandy  helped  him,  so 


346  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

that  he  went  coolly  in  to  breakfast  and  sat  down, 
saying,  — 

"  Good-morning,  Olivia.  I  hope  you  are  over 
the  effects  of  your  voyage."  Every  one  looked 
up  except  Blake,  and  Francis,  nodding,  eyed  the 
man  with  curiosity. 

Then  Pennell,  who  sat  near,  told  him  that  Miss 
Octopia  would  arrive  some  time  in  the  day. 

Darnell  glanced  at  his  cousin,  and  said,  "  Do 
you  hear  that,  Olive  ?  Octopia  is  coming.'* 

"  Indeed  !  "  she  returned.  She  did  not  care 
now,  and  half  wondered  at  her  own  indifference. 

The  meal  went  on  awkwardly.  As  Darnell  left 
the  table,  he  said,  bending  over  Olivia's  chair, — 

"I  am  going  away  to-day,  and  I  want  to  see 
Cousin  Anne  to  tell  her  good-by.  I  shall  be  at 
her  door  at  eleven.  Please  to  tell  her,  will  you  ?  " 

"  I  will.  But  shall  you  not  wait  to  see  Octo- 
pia?" 

"  I  do  not  know,"  he  replied,  absently. 

"  She  will  be  sorry  to  miss  you,"  said  Olivia, 
forcing  herself  to  kindly  speech. 

"  I  shan't  miss  myself,"  he  muttered  absently. 
"  May  I  see  you  again  before  I  go  ?  " 

"I  would  rather  not,"  said  Olivia,  still  looking 
down  at  her  plate,  they  being  now  alone,  and  only 
Blake  walking  uneasily  to  and  fro  near  the  door. 

"  As  you  like,"  returned  Darnell,  and  went  out. 

Then  Blake  came  back,  and  she  told  him  what 
had  passed.  He  said  to  her  that  the  stage  went 
at  one,  and  if  she  would  keep  her  room  until  then 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  347 

she  could  thus  easily  avoid  Darnell.  As  to  him- 
self, he  would  stay  about  until  the  man  departed. 

Darnell  went  up-stairs,  packed  his  valise  and 
took  more  brandy,  and  reflected,  sitting  on  the 
bed.  Even  his  passion  for  the  woman  he  had  in- 
sulted was  still  dulled  for  the  time.  Fear,  and 
hatred  of  Blake,  whose  word  he  did  not  fully  trust, 
were  the  most  distinct  sentiments  now  in  his 
mind.  It  was  dreadful  to  the  wretch  to  think 
that  a  part  of  his  security  from  exposure  would 
be  due  to  the  fact  that,  loving  Olive,  Blake  would 
be  less  willing  to  disgrace  one  of  her  kin. 

He  had  to  leave ;  and  Octopia's  resources  were 
getting  low.  What  could  he  do  when  these  quite 
failed  him  ?  He  would  see  Mrs.  Wynne  and  per- 
suade her  —  and  he  smiled  grimly  —  to  lend  him 
money ;  and  then  he  wished  that  his  sister  had  been 
more  free  in  her  confessions  to  him.  Once  clear 
from  this  awful  fear  and  supplied  with  money,  he 
would  go  West  and  see  what  chance  would  bring. 

At  eleven  he  went  down-stairs,  and,  knocking 
gently,  entered  Mrs.  Wynne's  room.  He  was  not 
in  a  state  to  notice  particulars,  or  he  would  have 
observed  —  what  was  visible  enough  to  Olivia  — 
that  the  old  lady  was  losing  ground  physically. 
She  was  never  intellectually  remarkable,  but  her 
mind  did  not  seem  to  fail  equally  with  her  body, 
and  no  change  of  mind  or  body  lessened  her  prej- 
udices or  altered  her  habits. 

It  has  been  seen  that  Darnell  had  been  pleasant 
to  her  in  New  York.  If  Olivia  had  liked  him. 


348  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

Mrs.  Wynne  would  have  tranquilly  accepted  it  as 
a  release  from  certain  unpleasant  things  which 
Octopia  kept  too  much  before  her  as  motive  forces 
for  the  perpetuation  of  gratitude,  and  which, 
after  such  a  marriage,  would  cease  to  be  threat- 
ening. Olivia  had  told  her,  however,  only  an 
hour  before,  that  it  was  not  a  possible  thing,  and 
that  once  for  all  she  had  done  with  Richard  Dar- 
nell. The  old  lady  was  now  comfortable  over 
this,  too,  since  she  would  not  be  forced  to  give 
her  niece,  with  a  husband,  some  means  of  support. 

She  was  pretty  and  refined  in  her  white  wrapper 
and  laces,  and,  as  always,  she  wore  her  long  gloves 
and  had  her  Chinese  fan  and  a  soft  handkerchief 
on  her  lap. 

"  And  so  you  are  going  away,  Richard  ?  "  she 
said,  "  and  Octopia  is  coming  ?  I  did  not  think  we 
should  be  at  rest  very  long.  How  you  young  peo- 
ple move  about !  I  suppose  it 's  so  easy  nowadays. 
When  I  was  a  girl  and  my  father  used  to  come  to 
Congress  in  Philadelphia,  it  took  us  weeks  with 
four  horses  and  a  coach,  —  weeks,  Richard." 

"  They  say  you  were  a  beauty,  Cousin  Anne." 

The  old  lady  smiled  an  autumnal  smile.  "I 
have  had  men  tell  me  that.  But  it 's  a  long  while 
ago.  I  think  I  danced  the  minuet  well." 

"  I  almost  think  you  could  now." 

"  The  girls  and  the  men  would  laugh  at  it,  sir. 
None  but  well-bred  people  could  dance  it;  and 
now  there  is  no  more  good  breeding ;  it  has  gone 
out." 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  349 

She  paused,  and  he  hesitated.  Then  he  took 
her  thin  hand.  "Cousin  Anne,"  he  said,  "we  are 
ruined,  all  of  us,  down  in  Virginia.  I  too  am  ab- 
solutely penniless.  If  I  had  a  little  money,  —  a 
few  thousands,  —  I  could  start  fresh  and  take  Oc- 
topia  home  with  me.  Don't  you  think  you  could 
lend  me  four  or  five  thousand  dollars  ?  " 

"  Why  don't  you  ask  Octopia  ?  I  gave  her 
five  thousand  dollars,  —  gave  it  to  her.  Where  is 
it  ?  I  think  it  quite  enough  to  give  to  one  f am- 

iiy." 

"  How  do  I  know  what  she  does  with  her 
money  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  can't  do  it." 

"  Then  perhaps  a  less  sum,  cousin." 

"  I  do  not  propose  to  give  you  anything." 

Of  Richard  Darnell  at  least  she  had  no  fear,  and 
she  liked  to  feel  that  security  of  increasing  wealth 
of  which  age,  with  its  experiences  of  calamity  and 
loss,  is  so  fond. 

"  Living  is  very  expensive,"  she  added,  "  what 
with  Olive  and  Octopia.  Now  don't  ask  me  any 
more." 

"  It  seems  very  easy,"  he  returned,  "  to  forget 
obligations." 

"  To  whom  am  I  obliged,  Richard  Darnell  ? 
Certainly  not  to  you." 

"  To  any  one,"  he  said,  with  slow  articulation, 
"  who  keeps  your  secrets.  If  Octopia  has  seen  fit 
to  hide  from  the  world  what  she  knows,  I  at  least 
may  not  feel  that  it  is  needful  to  be  quite  so  mer- 


350  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

ciful  to  a  woman  who  cares  as  little  as  you  do 
about  your  husband's  kindred." 

The  old  lady  grasped  the  arms  of  her  chair  and 
rose  to  her  feet,  seizing  him  by  the  arm  to  steady 
herself. 

"What!  what!"  she  said,  "  Octopia  has  be- 
trayed us !  She  has  told  you !  Ah,  you  were 
traitors  all,  always.  What  Darnell  ever  kept  faith  ? 
And  you,  —  you,  with  your  pretty  devil  face,  — 
the  last  and  the  worst  of  a  bad  breed !  Oh,  I 
would  pay  you  and  let  you  go,  but  you  would  be 
back  again  and  again,  until  I  died  a  beggar." 

"  If  you  give  me  this  money,"  he  said,  "  I  will 
swear  to  you  that  I  will  never  trouble  you  any 
more." 

"  And  you  would  lie,"  she  cried,  her  face  twitch- 
ing. "  Oh,  my  God !  I  have  prayed  that  this 
might  pass  away  and  none  know.  But  I  am  old, 
• — old,  —  and  I  must  bear  it.  And  the  shame  of 
it! — the  shame!"  Then  she  ceased  a  moment, 
a  quick  light  in  her  eyes.  "  What  did  she  tell 
you  ?  I  must  know.  What  is  it?  " 

"  Arthur  Wynne  "  — he  said,  slowly. 

"  Hush  !  hush  !  "  she  whispered,  plucking  with 
agitated  fingers  at  his  sleeve.  "  Speak  low.  What 
else?" 

He  hesitated,  knowing  really  nothing. 

"  Ah,"  she  broke  out,  "  you  know  nothing, 
Richard  Darnell.  You  are  not  clever  enough  for 
a  scoundrel.  Go  away." 

The  man's  face  darkened.     "  You  had  best  help 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  351 

me,"  he  said.  "  It  will  be  worse  for  some  one  if 
you  don't.  I  am  a  beggar.  By  heaven,  I  would 
be  afraid  if  I  were  you  and  you  were  I." 

He  hardly  knew  what  he  said.  He  was  desper- 
ate, and  caught  her  by  the  arm.  Something  in 
his  look  scared  her.  She  tottered  back.  "  Help ! 
help !  "  she  cried.  He  turned  as  the  door  opened, 
and  Octopia  entered  abruptly,  followed  by  Olivia 
and  Blake. 

"  What  is  this  ?  "  said  Blake. 

"  He  —  he  "  —  gasped  Mrs.  Wynne  inarticu- 
lately. «*  Did  you  tell  him,  Octopia  ?  You  did 
not.  No  woman  could  be  so  base." 

Octopia  understood  but  too  well.  "  I  did  not," 
she  said ;  "  oh,  Dick  !  —  brother !  " 

The  shame  of  her  sin  was  on  her,  its  tiger-claws 
in  her  dearest  affections.  She  threw  herself  on 
the  lounge  in  an  agony  of  sobbing. 

Darnell  stood  looking  at  her,  at  Mrs.  Wynne,  at 
Olivia.  Hate  that  was  like  a  visible  blasphemy 
came  out  on  his  face  and  played  strange  tricks 
with  his  features.  Then  he  said,  "  Olivia !  " 

The  girl  turned  from  her  cousin's  side. 

"  What  is  it?  "  she  asked,  greatly  troubled. 

"  Will  you  speak  to  me  a  moment  alone  ?  " 
His  voice  fell  as  he  spoke,  and  his  face  grew 
softer. 

"  Yes,"  she  said. 

"  And  I  say  no !  "  cried  Blake,  moving  forward. 

Darnell  took  no  notice  of  him.  "  In  the  entry, 
one  moment,"  he  added. 


352  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"  Mr.  Blake,"  she  said,  "  no  one  shall  stop  me." 

An  awful  pity  was  in  her  eyes,  and,  so  saying, 
she  turned  swiftly,  followed  by  Darnell.  Blake, 
intensely  disturbed,  stood  resolutely  in  the  door- 
way. 

"  Roland,"  she  said,  "  for  my  sake." 

Darnell  smiled  curiously  and  they  stepped  past 
her  lover.  Then  Darnell  caught  her  by  both 
hands  and  looked  and  looked  in  her  eyes,  —  a 
stare  of  yearning  love,  blurred  by  tears. 

"  Good-by,"  he  said,  and,  dropping  her  hands, 
drew  a  revolver  from  his  breast  pocket. 

She  recoiled,  as  Blake  springing  forward  cried, 
"  Coward  !  "  —  and  then  instantly  controlling  him- 
self saw  Darnell  gently  place  the  weapon  in  her 
trembling  grasp. 

"  Take  it !  You  have  been  sweet  to  me,  and 
dear,  and  good ;  you  have  saved  that  man's  life. 
Take  it,  quick,  or  I  shall  kill  some  one."  Then, 
as  she  stood,  he  looked  at  her  anew  in  the  eyes, 
and,  speaking  low,  said,  —  "  And  Octopia  —  my 
sister  —  you  will  understand."  With  these  words 
he  went  down  stairs  slowly,  step  by  step,  and  took 
his  straw  hat  from  the  rack  near  the  door  and  then 
dropped  it,  and  went  away  up  the  road,  unmind- 
ful of  Pennell,  who  spoke  to  him  pleasantly  as  he 
passed.  The  charity  of  God  is  perfect  by  reason 
of  perfect  knowledge.  The  highest  charity  of 
man  involves  something  of  poetic  insight.  The 
woman's  pity  had  been  a  quicker  guide  to  a  par- 
tial comprehension  of  Darnell's  meaning.  But 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  353 

Blake  alone  of  those  who  were  near  possessed  the 
power  to  understand  him.  He  caught  the  true 
meaning  of  the  Virginian's  movement  in  time  not 
to  interfere  by  rude  action.  A  less  ready  and 
y  less  finely  made  man  would  have  caused  cruel  mis- 
chief. Men  of  practical  capacity  who  are  also 
imaginative  are  advantaged  thereby :  large  ranges 
of  the  possible  lie  open  to  their  reason,  and  the 
improbable  is  not  set  aside  as  foolish. 

As  Darnell  descended  the  stairs  Blake  took  the 
unaccustomed  weapon  from  Olivia's  passive  hand, 
as  she  stood  pallid  and  awed,  her  eyes  on  the  re- 
treating form  of  her  cousin.  Blake  put  the  re- 
volver on  a  table. 

"  Miss  Wynne,"  he  said  ;  "  Olive  !  " 

"Yes  !  yes! "  she  exclaimed,  looking  about  her, 
as  if  recovering  knowledge  of  her  surroundings. 
"What  is  it?" 

"  Do  not  you  think  that  you  had  better  attend 
to  your  grandmother  ?  Can  you  ? "  he  added, 
looking  her  over  with  anxious  scrutiny. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  and  she  turned.  "  But  send  me 
some  one,  —  Mrs.  Ludlam,  any  one.  This  will 
kill  grandmamma." 

"  I  will  see  to  it,"  he  said. 

"  And  Richard.  What  does  he  want  ?  what 
does  he  mean  ?  I  —  I  must "  — 

"  Trust  me,  Olive,"  he  returned.  "  I  understand 
you  ;  I  will  find  out." 

As  he  left  her  he  glanced,  not  incurious,  at  the 
meagre  little  lady,  seated  with  her  two  hands  on 


354  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

her  gold-headed  dame's  staff,  quite  past  all  power 
to  speak,  tremulous,  watching  this  drama  in  which 
passions  long  dead  for  her  wrestled  on  the  edge  of 
the  abyss  of  murder.  Octopia  lay  moaning  on  the 
couch. 

Blake  went  down-stairs,  and,  with  a  word  or 
two  of  explanation  to  the  landlady,  went  out  at 
the  front  door,  where  Pennell,  unconscious  of  what 
had  gone  on,  was  basking  in  the  welcome  sunlight 
of  the  cool  October  morning. 

"  Mrs.  Wynne  is  ill,"  said  Blake.  "  There  has 
been  trouble.  I  can't  stop  to  explain.  Where 
did  Mr.  Darnell  go?" 

"  Up  the  road." 

As  Blake  ran  in  the  direction  indicated,  Pen- 
nell looked  after  him  a  moment  in  bewilderment, 
and  then  went  into  the  house. 

When  Blake  overtook  Darnell,  he  found  him 
about  unloosing  one  of  the  boats  at  the  landing- 
slip.  He  must  have  moved  rapidly,  since  it  was 
a  half  mile  from  the  house.  Darnell  turned  as 
Blake's  quick  step  was  heard,  and,  calmly  sitting 
down  on  the  bow  of  the  stranded  boat,  watched 
him  sternly. 

Imagination  has  its  penalties  as  well  as  its  joys. 

It  represented  to  Blake  responsibilities  due  to  his 

having  saved  this  man's  life.     He  smiled  a  little 

at  the  thought  as  he  ran  across  the   meadows. 

The  tragic  passion  of  the  man,  the  unusualness  of 

his  crimes,  interested  him ;  and  back  of  all  was 

/  that  tenderness  for  all  forms  of  suffering  which 

V     for  Roland  had  made  war  so  terrible  a  duty. 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  355 

Now  he  stood  before  Darnell,  breathing  hard. 
"  I  am  glad  I  caught  you,"  he  said. 

"  I  thought  I  was  done  with  you  forever." 
And  rising  to  his  feet,  he  began  to  untie  the  boat- 
rope. 

"  Stop,"  rejoined  Blake,  touching  his  shoulder. 
"  Listen  to  me." 

Darnell  turned  on  him  sharply. 

"Don't  touch  me  again,  or  I  shall  strangle  you. 
Are  you  a  fool  ?  Can't  you  let  a  desperate  man 
go  his  way?" 

"No.  You  mean  to  kill  yourself.  If,  seeing 
that,  I  do  nothing,  I  am  a  sharer  of  your  sin." 

"  Are  you  my  keeper  ?  " 

"Yes,  surely.  I  wish  I  were  not.  Oh,  you 
must  listen  to  me,  —  at  any  cost  I  must  make  you 
listen  to  me." 

Darnell,  about  to  launch  the  boat,  paused. 
Blake  possessed  some  of  that  singular  power  over 
men  which  makes  the  eye  despotic  to  control,  and 
which  is  strengthened  by  the  habit  of  command. 
The  wretched  man  before  him  felt  its  force. 
•'Well,  speak  quickly,"  he  said;  "what  is  it? 
You  can't  very  well  hurt  me  more  than  you  have  ; 
go  on." 

"  Thank  you,"  returned  Blake,  gently.  "  I 
don't  question  your  past.  God  alone  knows  what 
your  temptations  may  have  been.  I  said  to  you 
that  I  would  tell  Miss  Wynne  what  I  knew  of  you, 
if  you  did  not  leave  at  once.  I  want  to  say  now, 
that  I  spoke  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment.  I 


356  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

could  not  have  done  that.  I  never  shall  do  that. 
If  fear  of  what  I  can  say  drives  you  to  despera- 
tion, be  assured  that  not  the  grave  will  be  more 
silent  than  I." 

"  The  grave  !  I  wonder  if  that  will  be  really 
silent !  Well,  you  have  had  your  say.  Is  that 
all  ?  "  He  was  now  strangely  patient. 

"  One  word  more.  I  take  it  you  are  just  now 
crazed  with  all  manner  of  torture.  You  cannot 
think.  Wait  —  wait !  Go  away  from  here.  If 
money  is  wanting,  I  shall  have  Mr.  Pennell's 
authority  to  offer  you  what  you  need." 

He  did  not  say  he  would  give  it  himself. 

Darnell  regarded  him  with  a  look  half  weari- 
ness, half  wonder.  "  You  are  a  singular  person," 
he  said.  "  I  do  not  know  that  ever  I  met  any  one 
like  you.  If  I  did  not  hate  you,  I  should  like  to 
shake  hands  with  you,  —  once.  At  all  events, 
Mr.  Blake,  it  is  too  late." 

"  Is  it  ever  too  late  ?  " 

"  Well,  yes,"  he  answered,  in  a  tired  way. 
"  For  a  gentleman,  —  yes.  There  are  things  a 
man  can  do  and  keep  his  place,  and  some  he  can't 
do;  and  these  are  known.  If  they  had  not  been, 
I  should  not  have  cared.  Even  the  worst  of 
women  likes  the  semblance  of  covering.  Mine  is 
gone.  I  am  sin-naked." 

"But  you  are  safe  with  me." 

He  did  not  reply  to  this.  "  You  can  do  me  one 
favor,"  he  said.  "Promise  me  as  a  gentleman 
that  you  will  not  annoy  me  by  pursuit,  —  by  say- 
ing anything  for  a  few  hours," 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  357 

"  I  promise,"  said  Blake,  simply. 

Darnell  entered  the  boat,  and  pushed  it  from 
the  slip.  Then  he  sat  down,  and  began  to  row 
away,  saying  nothing  further,  while  Blake  stood 
still  and  watched  him,  thoughtful. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

"  This  is  my  secret.    Let  the  rust  of  time 
Eat  dull  its  edge  within  the  sheath  of  trust.'' 

WHEN  Blake  turned  homeward,  he  met  near 
the  inn  his  watchful  friend,  to  whom  he  gave 
rapidly  such  explanation  as  was  possible.  Miss 
Wynne,  he  stated,  had  gone  down-stairs  to  meet 
her  cousin  Miss  Darnell,  who  had  just  arrived 
from  the  Cape.  "It  seemed  all  just  so  timed 
that  when  they  went  up-stairs,  I  following,  —  I 
was  on  my  way  to  my  room,  —  we  heard  Mrs. 
Wynne  cry, '  Help  ! '  I  ran  into  her  sitting-room, 
followed  by  the  women.  I  will  tell  you  more 
fully  another  time.  It  amounts  to  this,  as  I  see 
it :  Darnell  wanted  money,  or  something,  I  hardly 
know  what,  and  I  suppose  threatened  Mrs.  Wynne ; 
and  from  what  passed  —  though  of  course  there 
was  too  much  confusion  for  one  to  be  clear  about 
it  —  Mrs.  Wynne  seemed  to  think  that  Miss  Dar- 
nell had  told  her  brother  something  which  he  was 
using  to  terrify  the  old  lady." 

"  Blackmail,  I  suppose,"  said  Francis. 

"  It  looked  like  that  to  me.  There  was  a  sec- 
ond performance  in  the  entry.  Darnell  bade  his 
cousin  Miss  Wynne  good-by,  hardly  looked  at 
his  sister,  who  was  in  tears  on  a  couch,  and  then 
walked  off  without  his  hat." 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  359 

"  What  a  strange  scene,  Roland  !  He  must  be 
in  love  with  this  handsome  Miss  Olivia.  I  sus- 
pected as  much.  I  presume  that  you  have  the 
key  to  it." 

"  No  man  has  all  the  keys  to  the  human  riddle 
of  a  wrecked  soul,"  returned  Blake. 

"Perhaps  not.  Darnell  passed  me  as  I  was 
standing  talking  to  Uncle  John,  as  you  call  him. 
He  did  not  speak  to  him  or  to  me.  Uncle  John 
said,  '  What 's  come  to  that  man  ?  '  To  my  mind 
he  had  the  preoccupied  intense  look  I  saw  once 
in  a  poor  devil  of  a  deserter  they  shot  in  Sedg- 
wick's  corps.  Did  you  follow  him,  Roland  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  But  why  ?  " 

"  I  will  tell  you  to-morrow." 

"  By  George,  Roland,  that  man  meant  to  kill 
himself.  Now,  if  I  know  you,  —  and  I  do  know 
you  well:  oh,  you  may  laugh,  but  I  do,  —  you 
had  the  same  idea  that  I  have,  and  you  went  after 
him,  like  a  fool-angel,  to  see  what  you  could  do 
for  him.  It  was  like  you,  and  it  was  nonsense. 
You  had  a  fool-devil  to  deal  with." 

"  You  do  not  honestly  think  it  was  nonsense  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do.     If  I  saw  a  mad  dog  about  to  leap 
into  a  furnace,  would  I  try  to  stop  him  ?  " 
•/  "  You  can't  converse  with  a  dog ;  and  the  moral 
madness  of  a  man  may  be  cured." 

"  Stuff !  you  know  something  terrible  about  this 
man.  I  wish  I  knew  it  too.  I  think  his  case  in- 
terests you ;  and  then  you  have  a  soft  side  to  you 


360  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

which  turns  up  for  all  sorts  of  calamity.     It  will 
play  you  a  trick  some  day.     Now,  Roland,  if  you 
saw  a  rascal  condemned  to  death,  and  justly,  and 
led  out  to  die,  you  would  not  set  him  loose  ?  " 
"  No  —  I  don't  know —  I  'm  not  sure." 
"  Well,  here  is  a  man  who  conducts  his  own 
trial,  with  awful  self-knowledge  as  witness,  and 
sentences   himself   as   a   useless   wretch   without 
remedy ;  and  you  would  wish  to  stay  his  hand." 
"  That  is  just  it ;  no  man  is  without  remedy." 
"  Indeed !  but,  as  you  would  say,  there  is  an  infi- 
nitely improbable  which  amounts  to  the  practically 
impossible.     That 's  the  sort  of  thing  you  say  to 
me  when  you  are  a  little  dreamy.     What  I  mean 
is  that  it  is  n't  worth  while  to  bother  about  a 
scamp  who  intends  to  shoot  himself,  —  in  other 
words,  to  prevent  the  man  from  doing  the  only 
service  to  his  fellows  he  has  ever  willingly  done 
in  his  life.     I  am  glad  you  did  not  catch  him,  if 
that  was  what  you  were  after." 

Blake  was  silent  for  a  moment.  "  It  is  amusing, 
Phil,  to  hear  you  talk.  You  have  always  fifty 
reasons  for  not  helping  a  beggar,  but  when  I  have 
given  him  five  cents  you  sneak  away  and  empty 
your  pockets  for  him.  It  is  all  talk." 

"  No.     I  represent  the  world  and  its  common 


"  Then  the  common  sense  of  the  recording  angel 
will,  I  trust,  be  of  a  different  texture." 

"  Possibly  ;  and,  if  so,  he  will  have  his  hands 
full.  But  here  is  Mr.  Pennell." 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  361 

"  Leave  me  alone  with  him,  Phil." 

Pennell  had  been  absent  when  Miss  Darnell 
came,  and  to  him  also  Blake  had  to  make  some 
such  statement  of  facts  as  that  which  he  had 
made  to  his  own  friend.  It  caused  Pennell  to 
look  grave  enough  and  to  ask  many  questions, 
some  of  which  were  hard  to  answer.  At  last  he 
said,  — 

"  You  have  come  within  the  knowledge  of  a 
family  trouble,  Mr.  Blake.  It  has  taken  a  form 
which,  for  certain  personal  reasons,  distresses  me 
greatly.  Of  course  the  little  you  know  will  be 
sacred  ?  " 

"  I  have  already  spoken  of  it  to  Mr.  Francis. 
It  will  be  as  safe  with  him  as  with  me.  But  be- 
fore we  go  further,  I  think,"  added  Blake,  "  that 
I  ought  to  tell  you  that  I  am  engaged  to  Miss 
Wynne." 

"  Indeed !  You  are  a  fortunate  man,  Mr.  Blake. 
I  do  not  know  you  well,  but  it  is  in  a  man's  favor 
that  such  a  woman  can  love  him.  I  had  a  little 
suspicion  about  it,  —  I  can  hardly  say  why.  You 
puzzled  me  rather  unfairly  when  we  met  in  New 
York.  I  was  honestly  sorry  that  you  were  not 
more  frank." 

"  I  could  not  be.  I  was  under  a  form  of  pledge 
which  obliged  me  to  conceal  what  I  knew,  and  yet 
my  sense  of  right  made  it  a  duty  to  guard  Mrs. 
Wynne  and  Miss  Olivia  from  certain  possibilities 
of  harm." 

"  I  see,  —  in  a  measure,"  said  Pennell.     "  Our 


862  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

trouble  was  that  neither  knew  the  other  well 
enough  to  trust  him  fully." 

"  I  can  say  now  what  I  hinted  at  then,  —  that 
Darnell  was  known  to  me  as  a  scoundrel.  I  came 
here  to  see  what  I  could  do  to  warn  these  women. 
Mrs.  Wynne's  age  and  Miss  Wynne's  youth  made 
my  task  more  difficult  than  I  had  supposed  it  could 
be.  At  last  I  settled  the  matter  with  Mr.  Darnell 
himself.  What  passed  is  now  of  no  moment.  He 
will  trouble  them  no  more." 

The  agent  paused ;  they  had  been  walking 
slowly  down  the  road  as  they  conversed. 

"  You  are  a  young  man,  Mr.  Blake,  and  a  deci- 
sive one.  I  trust  that  you  feel  the  responsibility 
of  your  act.  You  have,  it  would  seem,  some 
power  over  Mr.  Darnell,  and  you  have  used  it,  as 
I  judge,  without  hesitation."  Then  he  paused, 
and  added,  "  Do  you  know  his  sister  ?  " 

"  I  do  not ;  but  I  am  sorry  for  her.  Men  like 
this  man  sow  misery  broadcast.  Men  sin  and 
women  suffer." 

"  Yes,  and  this  one  will  suffer  as  few  suffer.  I 
wish  I  could  have  had  a  talk  with  you  before  you 
drove  him  away." 

"  It  would  have  been  useless.  No  power  on 
earth  could  have  stopped  me.  Remember  who  I 
was  protecting ;  but  above  all  and  once  for  all, 
pray  understand  that  this  man  is  no  common  crim- 
inal. There  are  cases  where  a  man  must  judge 
and  condemn  and  sentence  ;  this  was  one.  No 
earthly  shame  was  beyond  this  man's;  no  soul 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  363 

could  have  been  more  defiled.  I  thank  God  he 
went.  As  to  his  story  it  will  rest  untold ;  be  as- 
sured of  that.  And  now  let  us  drop  him." 

"  Gladly,"  said  Pennell. 

"  There  is  another  matter  to  which  I  should  like 
to  go  back  for  a  moment.  You  have  said  that 
there  was  something  in  the  nature  of  a  secret  to 
which  Mrs.  Wynne  alluded,  and  which  Mr.  Dar- 
nell was  basely  using.  Is  it  known  to  Miss 
Wynne?  Does  it  trouble  her,  or  will  it  do  so?  " 

"  I  do  not  think  it  will  unless  it  comes  to  her 
ears ;  and  I  do  not  see  how  that  can  happen.  I 
myself  think  she  should  have  known  it  long  ago ; 
but  Mrs.  Wynne  did  not  agree  with  me,  and  it 
has  remained  more  or  less  a  mystery.  If  it  had 
been  treated  more  wholesomely,  Richard  Darnell 
could  not  have  pretended  to  make  use  of  it.  I 
say  pretended,  because  I  had  not  thought  that  he 
knew  even  of  its  existence.  I  shall  be  more  sure 
as  to  this  in  a  day  or  two." 

"  If,"  said  Blake,  "  I  were  what  I  hope  to  be,  — 
the  husband  of  Miss  Wynne,  —  I  should  ask  you 
to  tell  me  more.  As  it  is,  I  will  only  say  now 
that  at  some  future  time,  when  you  know  me  bet- 
ter, I  shall  expect  to  be  allowed  to  decide  whether 
she  should  still  be  kept  ignorant  or  not.  She  has 
told  me  that  there  were  things  in  her  home  life 
which  had  weighed  upon  her  heavily ;  and  possi- 
bly this  is  one." 

"Certainly  Mrs.  Wynne  will  not  mention  it, 
and  as  surely  Miss  Darnell  would  not." 


364  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

As  to  this  Blake  did  not  feel  quite  so  secure ; 
but  he  merely  added,  "  I  should  like  to  leave  the 
matter  in  this  shape." 

Then  Pennell  congratulated  him  warmly,  and 
they  parted  on  friendly  terms. 


CHAPTER  XXXIH. 

"  I  saw  as  I  passed  hither  here 
A  white  thing  on  the  sea, 
An  roun  aboon  it  sea  mews  screamed, 
They  screamed  fu  wistfully." 

"My  lore,  this  is  the  bitterest:  that  thou  — 
Who  art  all  truth,  and  who  dost  love  me  now 
As  thine  eyes  say,  as  thy  voice  breaks  to  say  — 
Shouldst  love  so  truly,  and  couldst  love  me  still." 

DURING  two  or  three  days  Mrs.  Wynne  was  ill 
from  the  excitement  to  which  she  had  been  sub- 
jected ;  but  the  claim  made  upon  Olivia  by  her 
condition  was  of  little  moment  compared  to  the 
demands  of  Miss  Darnell.  She  did  not  ask  for 
her  brother,  nor  did  she  even  mention  his  name, 
but  lay  most  of  the  time  in  a  darkened  room,  hold- 
ing Olivia's  hand.  To  Judith  she  was  irritable  and 
mercilessly  exacting;  Olivia  used  to  wonder  at 
the  stolid  patience  of  the  silent  old  woman. 

As  to  Richard  Darnell,  Olivia  knew  only  that 
he  had  gone.  Roland  Blake  had  told  her  this ; 
but  as  to  the  rest  of  the  scene  in  which  she  had 
acted  a  part,  she  as  yet  did  not  understand  it,  and 
would  wait  to  hear,  being  of  temperate  curiosity, 
and  having  a  heart  alive  with  thankful  joy  and 
hands  too  full  of  care  to  leave  leisure  for  more 
than  a  few  golden  moments  now  and  then  with 
Blake. 

24 


866  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

It  was  hard  not  to  pity  the  tall,  wasted,  sick  wo- 
man, with  her  refined  face  and  her  gentle  claims 
to  be  soothed  or  caressed  in  her  fits  of  self- 
abasement.  When  Olivia  tried  to  escape,  she 
would  say,  "Don't  leave  me,  dearest!  I  am  so 
wretched ! "  and  then  her  long  arms  fell  around 
the  girl  and  held  her  in  a  passionate  embrace. 
As  Octopia  slept  little  and  refused  to  eat,  Olivia 
became  alarmed,  and  proposed  to  send  for  a  doc- 
tor ;  but  this  the  invalid  resolutely  declined. 

Thus  the  days  went  by,  somewhat  drearily. 
Of  Darnell  no  one  heard,  and  Francis  was  obliged 
to  return  home,  carrying  with  him  the  pleasant 
news  of  Blake's  good  fortune. 

At  last  one  morning  Octopia  said  suddenly  to 
Olivia,  "  Where  is  my  brother  ?  " 

"I  do  not  know,"  she  returned.  "He  went 
away  on  Thursday." 

"  Is  Mr.  Pennell  here  ?  " 

"  Yes.     He  has  been  anxious  about  you." 

"  He  is  very  good,  dear.  Every  one  is  good, 
except  me.  I  have  been  foolish.  I  did  not  want 
to  do  any  harm.  But  you  won't  cease  to  love  me, 
Olive  ?  and  please  to  shut  out  the  light,  dear,  — 
and  a  little  cologne,  my  love." 

Olivia  rose  to  do  as  she  was  asked. 

"  You  said  Mr.  Pennell  was  still  here.  Do  you 
think  I  am  strong  enough  to  see  him  ?  I  want  to 
talk  to  him.  Could  you  turn  the  pillow  ?  " 

"  You  might  get  on  the  lounge,  cousin." 

"  Yes.  Send  Judith  here.  Do  I  look  horribly, 
Olive?" 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  367 

"  You  are  very  pale." 

"  Ah  !  Send  Judith,  please,  and  at  once.  Tell 
her  I  cannot  wait.  She  is  getting  so  lazy  !  " 

Olivia  found  the  old  black  woman  seated  in  the 
entry,  patiently  waiting,  as  usual,  without  needle- 
work, —  merely  gazing  through  the  cobwebbed 
window  at  the  chickens  in  the  garden  below  her. 

"  Miss  Octopia  wants  you.  Do  you  think,  Ju- 
dith, she  is  seriously  sick  ?  She  does  not  seem 
very  weak,  and  yet  she  eats  almost  nothing,  and  I 
do  not  believe  she  sleeps  at  all." 

A  lazy  smile  woke  up,  as  if  by  degrees,  among 
the  torpid  wrinkles  of  the  black's  face.  Then  she 
said,  with  a  certain  energy,  — 

"  She  not  die  dis  time,  Miss  Olive.  I  hope  she 
don't  go  to  die  jes'  yet.  She  been  gittin'  good 
dese  las'  days.  I  has  de  hope  she  not  die  yet. 
De  Lord  he  might  forgib  dat  woman." 

"  Judith  !  "  exclaimed  Olivia,  "  how  can  you  be 
so  wicked  ?  " 

"  Guess  maybe  I  done  say  too  much." 

"  You  should  be  ashamed  !  " 

"  Ain't  had  much  shame  sence  I  was  'bout  as 
ole  as  you,  chile,"  said  Judith.  "  You  does  n't 
know  much  of  dis  world  yet.  Dar  's  her  bell." 
And,  turning,  she  left  Olivia  half  stupefied  at  the 
glimpse  she  had  got  of  the  old  slave's  desolated 


"  I  ought  to  be  very  good,"  said  the  girl,  aloud, 
and  went  down-stairs  to  meet  her  lover. 

When,  to  Pennell's  great  delight,  he  was  told 


368  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

that  Miss  Darnell  desired  to  see  him,  he  entered 
her  room,  and  found  her  lying  on  a  lounge.  Her 
short  hair  curled  over  her  pale  face,  and  her  little 
cap  and  morning-dress  were  as  neat  as  usual. 

"  You  are  very  amiable  to  come  and  see  me," 
she  said,  in  her  pleasant  Southern  voice.  "  I 
should  have  asked  to  talk  with  you  before,  but  I 
have  been  so  utterly  miserable.  Do  sit  down." 

He  obeyed  her.  He  was  deeply  moved :  her 
set,  drawn  face  and  melancholy  eyes  shocked 
him. 

"  You  know,  Miss  Octopia,  that  there  is  no 
time  when  I  am  not  at  your  service.  Is  there 
anything  I  can  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  Where  is  Richard  ?  "  she  asked  abruptly. 

"  I  do  not  know.  He  went  away  suddenly  on 
Thursday,  and  has  not  come  back." 

"  Does  no  one  know  ?  " 

"I  think  not;  but  I  have  no  doubt  we  shall 
soon  hear  of  him." 

"  Yes,  I  dare  say,"  she  returned,  —  "  when  he 
wants  money.  And  Mrs.  Wynne,  —  she  might 
have  been  to  see  me." 

"  She  is  better,  —  much  better,"  he  said,  eva- 
sively. 

Then  there  was  a  brief  pause,  and  she  spoke 
again :  — 

"  Why  does  Cousin  Anne  neglect  me  ?  " 

"  I  hardly  know.     She  is  still  weak." 

"  It  does  n't  matter.  I  want  to  say  something, 
Mr.  Pennell,  and  it  is  very  hard  to  say." 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  369 

"  Can  I  make  it  easier  ?  " 

"  No.  No  one  can  do  that."  And,  hiding  her 
face  in  her  hands,  she  continued,  — 

"  I  think  Richard  tried  to  get  money  from 
Cousin  Anne  by  pretending  he  knew  something 
of  Arthur  Wynne's  death." 

"  He  could  not  have  done  that !  " 

"  Yes,  it  was  so.  Oh,  I  am  sure  it  was  so.  I 
would  give  —  oh,  I  would  give  my  right  hand  to 
be  sure  it  was  not  so.  I  —  I  —  you  know  what  I 
did  for  my  cousins.  Perhaps  I  overrated  the  ser- 
vice I  did  them.  If  I  reminded  Cousin  Anne  of 
it,  —  and  I  did  ;  yes,  I  did,  —  it  was  because  I 
wanted  what  they  never  gave  me,  —  their  love. 
They  never  really  loved  me,  and  I  had  helped 
them  well.  It  is  so  hard  to  say  !  I  wanted  Olive 
to  marry  my  brother,  and  the  devil  tempted  me 
to  show  them  what  power  I  possessed." 

"  My  God  !  "  cried  Pennell ;  "  please  not  to  go 
on.  You  are  sick.  Surely  you  cannot  really 
know  what  you  are  saying  ?  "  He  did  not  guess 
\xxthe  strange  relief  which  the  abasement  of  confes- 
sion gave  her. 

"  I  know  well  enough,"  she  cried. 

He  took  her  hand  kindly,  only  half  aware  of 
the  act. 

"  Don't  touch  me,"  she  said.  "  I  am  vile. 
How  can  you  touch  me  ?  " 

"  We  have  all  sinned,"  he  said,  his  eyes  full  of 
tears. 

"  But  I  did  not  tell  Richard  that  Arthur  Wynne 


370  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

v/  had  killed  himself ;  indeed  I  did  not.  How  could 
Cousin  Anne  believe  that?  You  believe  me,  do 
you  not  ?  "  And  she  turned  her  questioning  eyes 
upon  him  in  soft  entreaty. 

"Surely  I  believe  you.  I  do  not  think  you 
have  ever  willingly  done  wrong.  As  to  Mrs. 
Wynne,  you  must  allow  something  for  her  morbid- 
ness. Arthur  Wynne  was  negligent,  and  left  his 
partners  unwatched.  They  brought  the  appear- 
ance of  dishonor  on  a  sensitive  man,  and  what 
followed  you  know.  It  was  unwise  of  you  to  hide 
it.  Of  course  any  one  who  knows  her  can  easily 
understand  Mrs.  Wynne's  horror  at  the  idea  of 
her  son's  suicide  coming  to  his  daughter's  knowl- 
edge ;  but  there  was  not  the  shadow  of  wrong  on 
that  man.  I  would  have  told  the  girl  all  there 
was  to  tell  as  soon  as  she  was  old  enough  to  hear 
it.  But  with  Mrs.  Wynne  it  was  almost  an  insan- 
ity. It  terrified  her  to  mention  it.  There  was  no 
course  possible  except  to  obey  her  wishes.  I  am 
sure  that  you  who  are  sensitive  must  in  your  self- 
reproach  have  overstated  your  own  blame." 

"  I  have  not,"  she  said,  shuddering.  "  I  boasted 
to  Richard  that  I  could  have  what  I  wanted ;  I 
told  him  that  Mrs.  Wynne  was  in  my  power ;  I 
played  with  the  idea  that  one  way  or  another  I 
could  rule  Olivia ;  and  then  —  oh,  Mr.  Pennell, 
when  I  found  that  he  meant  to  make  believe  that 
he  knew  what  I  knew,  when  I  grew  sure  that  he 
was  really  going  to  do  what  I  had  only  just 
thought  of  doing,  —  oh,  then  I  saw !  then  I  saw ' 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  371 

I  wish  I  had  done  it !  Then  he  could  not  have 
been  as  wicked  as  I,  —  my  beautiful  boy-brother ! 
Oh,  I  would  have  sinned  in  his  place  and  saved 
him." 

He  was  the  one  strong  love  of  a  life,  greedy  of 
tenderness,  but  incapable  of  a  wide  range  of  lov- 
ing, eager  to  get,  unable  to  give  as  largely. 

Pennell  was  silent.  He  sat  holding  his  hat  be- 
tween his  knees.  Then  he  set  the  hat  on  the  floor 
and  put  on  his  spectacles,  and  at  once  took  them 
off  and  wiped  them,  and  finally  put  them  in  his 
pocket. 

"  Do  you  think  Richard  will  come  back  ?  "  she 
said.  At  that  hour  he  was  lying,  a  ghastly  thing 
to  see,  on  the  beach  at  Cape  May,  and  about  him 
was  a  group  of  rough  men  wondering  who  he 
might  be  and  whence  the  dark  breakers  had 
brought  their  prey. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Pennell.  "  I  have  been 
making  all  possible  inquiries.  If  he  is  found,  or 
when  he  is  found,  be  sure  I  shall  help  him." 

"  You  are  a  true  friend,"  she  cried.  "  I  could 
not  have  believed  that  after  what  I  have  told  you 
any  one  would  want  to  help  us." 

"  But,"  he  said,  looking  down,  "  I  love  you. 
That  is  the  simplest  of  all  human  explanations. 
Don't  let  that  annoy  you.  I  did  not  mean  to 
trouble  you  again ;  but  there  are  things  too  strong 
for  our  common  sense,  and  perhaps — perhaps  it 
may  make  you  feel  that  you  are  not  quite  de- 
serted." 


372  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"  How  can  it  be?"  she  said.  "No  man  could 
love  a  woman  like  me,  and  least  of  all  a  man  like 
you." 

"  Try  me,  Octopia,"  he  said.  "  It  is  not  pity 
that  moves  me." 

"  Don't  ask  me.  How  can  I  dare  to  think  of 
sharing  a  good  man's  life  ?  I  cannot !  I  cannot ! 
always  there  would  be  this  between  us.  The  time 
would  come  when  —  when  —  oh  !  I  cannot  ex- 
plain. You  must  surely  understand.  It  would 
end  ill !  It  would  end  ill." 

He  was  still  at  least  a  minute,  looking  down  at 
the  floor,  and  at  last  said,  — 

"Listen  to  me  a  little.  I  can  say  that  with 
God's  help  I  have  tried  for  many  a  year  to  live 
a  just  and  honest  life.  But "  —  and  he  paused,  as 
if  in  pain,  and  drew  a  long  breath  —  "  there  was  a 
time  —  I  was  young  and  sorely  tempted  —  when 
I,  too,  deeply  sinned.  I  did  —  I  did  a  thing  —  I 
will  not  tell  you  what.  Your  sin  was  light  com- 
pared to  mine.  One  man  was  good  to  me  then. 
I  tremble  to-day  at  the  thought  of  what  but  for 
Arthur  Wynne  I  might  have  become." 

"  Why  did  you  tell  me  this  ?  "  she  cried,  start- 
ing up.  She  had  a  strange  feeling  that  she  would 
rather  not  have  known  it.  Then  in  turn  some 
womanly  feeling  of  the  awfulness  of  this  self-sac- 
rificial confession  overcame  her  as  she  looked  up. 
"  You  are  a  noble  gentleman,"  she  said,  gently, 
and  took  his  hand  and  kissed  it  and  let  it  fall. 

"  Will,  you  try  to  love  me  ?  "  he  said.     "  Let  us 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  373 

ask  God  to  help  two  souls  that  have  been  astray 
to  go  righteously  through  what  years  He  gives 
them." 

"  I  will,"  she  whispered,  feebly.  "  So  help  me 
God,  I  will  try  to  be  a  better  woman.  And  — 
and  please  to  go  now,  and  after  a  while  —  perhaps 
in  a  few  weeks  —  we  can  talk  of  this  again.  Now 
I  am  worn  out ;  and  you  have  been  —  oh,  you 
have  been  so  good  to  me  !  " 

Then  Pennell  arose,  and,  merely  thanking  her, 
went  away,  more  sad,  more  grave,  and  yet  more 
happy,  than  when,  a  half  hour  before,  he  had 
climbed  the  narrow,  creaking  staircase  of  the  inn. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

"  Prithee,  rir,— 
The  end  is  the  beginning." 

Some  weeks  had  gone  by,  Mrs.  Wynne  had  soon 
become  well  enough  to  be  moved  to  Philadelphia, 
and  was  comfortably  settled  in  pleasant  apart- 
ments. Miss  Francis  aided  to  relieve  Olivia  of 
this  growing  care,  and  new  and  happy  associations 
graciously  illuminated  for  Olivia  the  joyous  pages 
of  which  the  text  was  a  strong  and  helpful  love. 

The  death  of  Darnell  was,  of  course,  soon  known 
to  all  concerned.  The  manner  of  it  was  gladly 
accepted  as  doubtful,  and  Octopia  had  gone  to 
Virginia  for  a  long  visit. 

Soon  after  they  came  to  the  old  city  of  Penn, 
Blake  had  urged  Olive  to  renew  her  youthful 
habit  of  riding,  and  now  he  was  to  leave  her  for  a 
few  weeks  that  he  might  see  to  some  business  in 
the  North.  They  had  turned  into  the  bridle-path 
below  Belmont  in  the  Park,  and  followed  it  under 
tulip-trees  and  over  grass-lands,  and  again  entered 
the  dense  woods  which  skirt  the  Reading  Rail- 
road. 

It  was  a  late  October  day,  with  loving  sunshine 
everywhere,  and  the  temperate  friendliness  of  cool 
winds.  On  the  soft  brown  mould  was  a  mottled 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  875 

covering  of  many-tinted  leaves,  in  which  the  hoofs 
of  the  horses  rustled  as  they  walked.  The  brown 
boles  of  oak  and  pine  rose  over  them  ;  ragged 
birches  and  silvery  beeches  made  pleasant  con- 
trast ;  at  their  feet  the  ruddy  sumach  and  the 
umber  ferns ;  over  all  a  canopy  of  red  and  gold, 
the  gorgeous  heraldry  of  the  dying  year. 

The  glamour  of  the  autumn  woods  was  about 
them,  and  they  rode  on  in  silence,  conversing  only 
with  the  ready  eyes  of  youth  and  love. 

There  is  something  gently  weird,  a  not  un- 
kindly sadness,  in  the  time,  —  a  faint  promise  of 
something  about  to  be,  — 

"  Like  that  mysterious  hour  which  comes  before  the  break  of  day." 

They  crossed  a  brook  flecked  with  dancing 
leaves,  and  paused  at  a  spring  which  all  those 
who  love  this  delicious  wood-ride  know  so  well. 

Olivia  sat  square  in  the  saddle,  rosy  and  vigor- 
ous, the  folds  of  her  dark  habit  dotted  with  crim- 
son and  yellow  leaves,  in  her  waist-belt  a  spray  of 
ruby  oak.  A  pretty  picture,  Blake  thought,  as  he 
stood  folding  a  piece  of  birch  bark  that  he  might 
make  a  drinking-cup  for  her. 

"  Thanks,  Roland,"  she  said,  as  he  stood  with  a 
hand  on  her  horse's  mane.  "  How  can  one  be  as 
happy  as  I  am?  When  I  look  back  and  think,  it 
seems  to  me  incredible.  You  cannot  imagine  how 
great  is  the  change,  because  you  cannot  even  yet 
realize  how  trying  was  my  life  at  home.  You  do 
not  know  Octopia.  She  is  very  much  altered, 
poor  thing ! " 


876  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"  What  made  it  so  hard,  Olive  ?  " 

"  I  can  hardly  say.  She  was  gentle  and  kind, 
—  oh,  quite  too  sweet,  —  except  at  times,  when 
nothing  pleased  her.  But  she  wanted  all  of  every- 
body about  her ;  and  then,  as  she  had  no  serious 
work,  she  thought  about  herself  and  thought  she 
did  n't  think  about  herself.  You  see,  it 's  quite 
confusing,  Roland." 

"  Rather,"  he  said,  laughing.  "  I  presume  that 
no  man  can  understand  such  women.  But  she 
was  really  ill,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes,  —  at  times  very  ill.  I  think,  Roland, 
that  what  must  be  the  worst  evil  of  half-sick  peo- 
ple is  the  absence  of  regular  work,  of  set  duties,  — 
things  they  have  to  do." 

"  Must  is  a  noble  tonic,"  he  said.  "  And  now 
we  must  go  home." 

"  Thank  you,  my  lord,"  she  cried  merrily. 

"  One  thing  more,  Olive,  as  I  leave  you  to-mor- 
row. You  are  aware  that  there  is  some  trouble 
which  Mrs.  Wynne  is  desirous  you  should  not 
know." 

"  Yes,"  she  returned,  surprised.  It  had  been 
much  on  her  mind  of  late. 

"  It  is  known,  Olive,  to  her,  to  your  cousin,  and 
to  Mr.  Pennell.  I  too  have  learned  of  late  what 
it  is." 

"  Then  I  know  it  too." 

"  How,  dear?     I  don't  quite  see  your  meaning." 

"  Oh,  stupid  Roland !     What  is  yours  is  mine." 

"But  if  I  think  best  not  tell  you,  — if  I  assure 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  377 

you  that  it  need  not  trouble  you,  —  if  I  say  it  is 
best,  that  now  it  is  far  away  in  time  and  cannot 
help  and  may  sadden  you  to  know  it,  —  will  you 
be  satisfied  to  leave  it  in  my  keeping?" 

"  It  is  about  my  dear  father  ?  "  she  said. 

"Yes." 

"  Kiss  me,  Roland."  And  she  bent  over  in  the 
saddle  and  met  his  lips. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  understanding  her  well. 

Then  they  rode  out  of  the  wood  and  on  to  the 
hills  above  the  Schuylkill,  and  westward  over 
grassy  turf  into  the  lustre  of  the  purple  twilight. 

I  see  them  as  they  pass,  the  woman's  face  still 
tender  with  the  memory  of  a  thought  that  sad- 
dened, the  man  erect,  —  the  trooper's  seat,  rather, 
as  it  were,  standing  in  the  stirrups,  —  resolute  of 
feature,  grave  as  if  he  shared  her  mood. 

He  turns  and  says  something.  I  do  not  know 
what  it  is :  they  seem  to  have  got  away  from  me. 
She  smiles,  and  it  is  like  the  smile  of  a  trustful 
child,  —  oh,  very  pretty  in  a  woman's  face. 

A  like  expression  gently  stirs  his  strong  brown 
features.  Their  hands  touch  and  part.  She  nods 
affirmatively. 

It  is  past  my  comprehension.  Then  I  say,  see- 
ing them  ride  away,  "  Good  luck  have  thou  with 
thine  honor,"  and  so  resume  my  solitary  walk. 

Two  years  have  gone.  Mrs.  Wynne  is  dead. 
Roland  Blake  is  in  Paris  with  his  wife,  and  now 
is  well  through  with  his  work  at  the  School  of 
Mines  and  is  looking  homeward. 


378  ROLAND  BLAKE. 

"  There  is  a  letter  from  Phil,"  he  says. 

"  And  will  you  read  it  to  me,  please  ?  " 

'"DEAR  ROLAND, — 

"  '  The  lands  in  '  —  Oh  !  there  is  a  lot  of  it 
about  business  ;  you  won't  care  to  hear  that. 

"  *  It  is  good  to  hear  of  you  as  coming  home. 

"  *  Your  wife  will  be  amused  to  hear  that  I  am 
to  be  godfather  to  Alice's  baby,  next  week.  It 's 
the  only  form  of  paternity  in  which  the  sins  of 
the  fathers  are  not  too  distinctly  visited  on  the 
children.  I  am  afraid  that  in  my  own  youth  the 
matter  was,  on  the  whole,  rather  reversed.  The 
world  uses  me  kindly,  being  like  a  woman  and 
fondly  attached  to  those  who  abuse  it. 

"  '  I  saw  Mrs.  Pennell  last  week.  Poor  Ad- 
denda !  He  is  pretty  bald  —  old  Time,  that  relent- 
less Indian,  has  got  his  scalp.  He  was  dressed 
like  an  Englishman,  and  had  a  rose  in  a  well-but- 
toned-up  coat.  He  is  not  allowed  to  buy  any 
more  clocks,  but  Mrs.  Octopia  Addenda  Pennell 
has  some  neat  diamonds.  I  think  she  would  like 
him  to  give  up  business  and  spend  most  of  his 
time  at  home.  He  wisely  resists,  but  I  am  of 
opinion  will  go  to  the  wall  soon  or  late.  She  has 
what  I  should  call  flabby  obstinacy  of  purpose,  — 
a  sort  of  unsteady  fractional  persistency,  which 
does  not  seem  to  have  much  fibre  to  it  and  yet  is 
pretty  sure  to  win.'  " 

"  Oh.  I  know,"  laughed  Olivia,  looking  up  from 
her  sewing. 

"  *  Nevertheless,  the  man  seems  to  like  it,  as  a 


ROLAND  BLAKE.  379 

whole.  I  dined  there  last  week,  and  the  thing 
was  very  well  done.  She  looked  as  much  as  ever 
like  that  medal  of  Malatesta  Novellus  ;  and  really 
you  could  go  far  before  you  saw  so  graceful  a 
creature.  As  for  Pennell,  he  followed  her  about 
with  a  shawl  and  a  scent-bottle,  and  says  he  has 
left  the  club  and  prefers  the  evening  tranquillity 
of  domestic  life.  Altogether,  it  is  an  interesting 
manage.  As  you  can't  chaff  me  with  an  ocean 
between  us,  I  can  now  tell  you  that  on  that  un- 
pleasant day  at  the  Court-house  when  you  left 
Darnell  at  the  slip  I  myself  took  a  boat  and  pulled 
after  him.  What  idiocy  I  should  have  been  guilty 
of  had  we  met,  who  can  say  ?  No  man  can  be  al- 
ways as  wise  as  I  am  usually.  His  boat  was  at 
the  inlet,  —  no  one  in  it ;  and  I  found  his  hand- 
kerchief on  the  beach.  That 's  all  of  it.  Alice 
sends  love.' 

"  It  was  so  like  him,"  said  Roland. 


THE  END. 


This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 


,N    81974 
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3 


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